BRARY 

«vrtjinr  or 


DIEGO 


3  1822  01108  8077 


V.I 


(I- 


x- 


WRITINGS 


OF 


SEVERN  TEACILE  WALLIS 


MEMORIAL  EDITION 


VOL.  I 
ADDRESSES  AND  POEMS 


BALTIMORE 

JOHN  MUKPHY  &  CO. 

1896 


CONTENTS. 


INTRODUCTION  : —  PAGE. 

Prefatory, ...v 

Biographical, viii 

ADDRESSES  : — 

Leisure:  its  Moral  and  Political  Economy,          ....  3 
Valedictory  to  the  Graduating  Class  of  the  University  of  Mary- 
land,           41 

Discourse  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  George  Peabody,     -        -  63 

Address  to  the  Law  Class  of  the  University  of  Maryland,       -  103 

Address  at  the  Unveiling  of  the  Statue  of  Chief  Justice  Taney,  139 

Address  on  behalf  of  the  Lee  Memorial  Association,            -        -  151 
Address  delivered  before  the  Schools  of  Art  and  Design  of  the 

Maryland  Institute, 167 

Address  at  the  Eighth  Annual  Commencement  of  the  McDonogh 

Institute, 193 

The  Johns  Hopkins  University  in  its  Relations  to  Baltimore,  217 

Notes, 247 

POEMS  : — 

The  Blessed  Hand, 255 

A  Prayer  for  Peace, 258 

The  Last  of  the  Hours, 261 

Truth  and  Reason, 263 

Beauty  and  Faith, 265 

The  Exile's  Prayer, 267 

The  First  Grave, 268 

The  Spectre  of  Colalto,            270 

In  Fort  Warren, 277 

iii 


iv  CONTENTS. 

PAGE. 

Worship, 278 

Dreams,       -----------  280 

Life, 283 

Christmas, 289 

Christmas— 1851, 290 

Christmas  Eve  at  Sea, 292 

To  an  Infant, 294 

Memnon, 298 

God's  Acre— Friedhof, 299 

Starlight, 299 

Quo  Fata  Trahunt, 300 

For  an  Album, 301 

For  an  Album,         ---------  302 

Dejection,             304 

To  a  Friend,             306 

To  the  Same, 309 

To  a  Friend, 310 

No  More  ! 312 

The  Curfew,             314 

Midnight,             315 

The  Fount, 317 

To  -     — , 318 

To  -     — , 319 

To  -     — , 320 

To  -    — , 323 

Angels, 324 

To  -     — , 325 

To , 330 

To ,       ----------  330 

TV  QQ<> 

1  I)    —                  .                       .--...-.--  OO-j 

From  ( 'alderon,       ---------  333 

Notes, 335 


INTRODUCTION. 


PREFATORY. 

r  I  iHE  present  edition  is  the  first  collection  of  the  scattered 
_J_  writings  in  prose  and  verse,  literary,  critical  and  political, 
of  the  late  Severn  Teackle  Wallis,  who  died  in  Baltimore,  April  11, 
1894.  Its  publication  now  is  due  to  the  earnest  desire  of  a  number 
of  his  personal  friends,  in  the  first  place,  to  possess  such  a  complete 
collection  of  his  writings,  and  secondly,  to  their  belief  that  the  people 
of  Maryland,  and  all  who  knew  him,  will  be  glad  to  have  such  a 
permanent  memorial  of  his  useful,  active  life,  and  of  his  many  and 
various  gifts  and  accomplishments.  Not  long  before  his  death, 
Mr.  Wallis  had  printed  at  his  own  expense,  for  distribution  among 
some  of  his  intimate  friends,  a  limited  edition  of  the  Addresses,  Lec- 
tures and  Reviews,  which  form  part  of  the  contents  of  the  first 
volume  of  this  edition.  Very  soon  after  his  death,  there  was  held 
in  Baltimore  a  meeting  which  resulted  in  the  formation  of  a  Wallis 
Memorial  Association,  one  of  the  specified  objects  of  which  was 
the  publication  of  a  Memorial  Edition  of  his  writings,  to  be 
followed,  in  time,  if  the  funds  of  the  Association  should  prove 
sufficient,  by  the  erection  of  a  Memorial  bust  or  statue  in  his 
honor  in  some  appropriate  public  place  in  the  city  of  Baltimore, 
and  by  the  foundation  of  one  or  more  scholarships  or  prizes  to  bear 
his  name  and  perpetuate  his  memory. 

v 


vi  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

With  this  view,  officers  of  the  Association  were  elected,  Execu- 
tive and  Finance  Committees  appointed,  and  subscriptions  were 
received. 

The  response  to  the  circular  issued  by  the  Association  setting 
forth  its  objects,  being  deemed  sufficiently  encouraging  to  justify 
the  Association  in  undertaking  the  present  publication,  Messrs. 
Thomas  W.  Hall,  Arthur  George  Brown  and  John  J.  Donaldson 
were  requested  to  act  as  a  Publishing  Committee,  and  authorized 
to  make  the  necessary  arrangements  for  editing  and  printing. 
The  Committee  were  fortunate  enough  to  secure  at  the  outset, 
the  valuable  services  of  Dr.  William  Hand  Browne,  Professor 
of  English  Literature  in  the  Johns  Hopkins  University,  to  see 
the  entire  work  through  the  press,  and  the  Committee  here  desire 
to  express  their  high  appreciation  of  the  value  of  Dr.  Browne's 
assistance,  and  of  the  care  and  fidelity  with  which  he  has  per- 
formed the  labor  assigned  to  him. 

In  addition  to  the  Lectures,  Addresses  and  Reviews,  collected 
and  privately  circulated  in  the  lifetime  of  Mr.  Wallis,  as  already 
mentioned,  the  first  volume  of  this  edition  contains  a  number  of 
short  poems  and  occasional  verses  written  at  various  times  and 
in  varying  moods,  which  have  never  before  been  collected,  and 
many  of  which  have  never  before  been  printed.  These  are  now 
published  as  they  appear  in  a  manuscript  volume,  in  which  in  his 
later  years,  and  after  evident  careful  correction  and  revision,  they 
had  been  transcribed  in  Mr.  Wallis's  own  neat  and  characteristic 
hand-writing.  The  only  liberty  taken  by  the  Editor,  has  been 
the  omission  in  some  instances  of  proper  names  and  initials; 
while  the  notes,  which  were  originally  prefixed  by  Mr.  Wallis  to 
some  of  the  poems,  have  been  printed  together  at  the  end  of 
the  volume. 

The  s','co:id  volume  is  devoted  to  a  selection  from  Mr.  Wallis's 
political  writings  of  a  permanent  and  historical  character,  prefer- 


INTRODUCTION.  vn 

ence  being  given  to  those  prepared  by  him,  while  a  member  of 
the  Maryland  Legislature  in  1861,  not  only  because  of  the  light 
which  they  throw  upon  the  events  of  that  time,  but  because  they 
constitute  a  most  important  chapter  in  Mr.  Wallis's  life,  in 
regard  to  which  he  has  expressed  the  desire  that  any  judgment 
of  his  motives  or  his  actions,  should  be  made  to  rest  upon  these 
very  documents.  No  vindication  is  necessary,  but  the  part  which 
Mr.  Wallis  bore  in  the  events  of  1860-61,  in  Maryland,  was  too 
conspicuous  and  too  honorable,  to  permit,  in  the  judgment  of  his 
friends,  this  important  chapter  of  his  life  to  be  passed  over  in 
silence.  For  the  same  reason  the  Letter  to  the  Hon.  John  Sher- 
man, is  included  in  the  volume,  the  contents  of  which  must  be 
regarded  as  partly  biographical,  if  not  auto-biographical.  Many 
of  the  papers  contained  in  the  second  volume  have  heretofore 
only  been  accessible  in  their  scattered  and  official  form,  as  part 
of  the  Journal  and  Proceedings  of  the  General  Assembly  of 
Maryland  in  1861. 

The  third  and  fourth  volumes  contain  Mr.  Wallis's  two  published 
books  on  Spain,  for  many  years  almost,  if  not  quite,  out  of  print. 
The  first,  entitled  Glimpses  of  Spain ;  or  Notes  of  an  unfinished 
Tour  in  1847,  was  published  by  Messrs.  Harper  &  Brothers, 
New  York,  in  1849,  and  has  since  been  reprinted  by  them.  The 
other  on  Spain :  Her  Institutions,  Politics  and  Public  Men :  A 
Sketch,  was  published  by  Messrs.  Ticknor,  Reed  &  Fields,  Boston, 
1853.  The  copyright  in  both  books  has  long  since  expired,  and 
their  republication  in  the  present  memorial  edition  is  in  response 
to  a  very  generally  expressed  desire  on  the  part  of  Mr.  Wallis's 
friends  to  possess  them  in  this  form. 

Amid  all  the  exactions  of  a  busy  professional  life,  Mr.  Wallis 
was  a  frequent  contributor  to  the  daily  press,  and  his  unsigned 
articles  on  the  current  topics  of  the  day  were  often  recognized  as 
his,  from  the  terseness  and  pungency  of  expression,  the  wit  some- 


viii  INTRODUCTION. 

times  playful  and  sometimes  caustic,  and  the  wealth  and  appo- 
siteness  of  illustration  and  argument  which  were  the  familiar 
ear-marks  of  his  style.  No  attempt  has  been  made  to  include 
in  the  present  collection,  any  of  these  writings  of  an  ephemeral 
character,  from  the  impossibility,  as  it  seemed  to  the  Committee, 
of  reproducing  the  personal  and  local  coloring  and  atmosphere, 
which  gave  them  at  the  time,  their  special  interest  and  effect. 
They  are  only  alluded  to  here,  in  order  that  the  present  collection 
may  not  be  supposed  to  furnish  the  full  measure  of  Mr.  Wallis's 
remarkable  intellectual  activity  and  fertility.  There  can  be  no 
doubt  that  his  contributions  to  literature  of  a  durable  and  perma- 
nent character,  would  have  been  much  more  extensive,  had  not 
the  demands  of  his  profession  so  fully  occupied  his  time,  and 
taxed  so  severely  a  physical  strength  and  constitution  which  were 
never  robust. 


BIOGRAPHICAL. 

To  the  foregoing  statement  of  the  origin  and  scope  of  this 
Memorial  Publication  of  Mr.  Wallis's  writings,  it  is  deemed  proper 
to  append  a  brief  sketch  of  his  career,  with  some  few  facts  relating 
to  his  parentage  and  family  and  to  the  place  which  he  held  in  the 
State  and  city  where  he  was  born,  and  lived  and  died. 

Severn  Teackle  Wallis  was  born  in  the  city  of  Baltimore,  on 
the  8th  of  September,  1816,  being  the  second  son  of  Philip  Wallis 
and  Elizabeth  Cu.stis  Teackle,  his  wife,  daughter  of  Severn  Teackle 
of  Talbot  county,  Maryland,  after  whom  he  was  named.  Both  of 
Mr.  Wallis's  parents  came  of  families  long-settled  upon  the  Eastern 
Shore  of  the  Chesapeake  Bay.  His  grandfather,  Severn  Teackle, 
married  February  23d,  1786,  Lucretia  Edmondson,  daughter  of 
Pollard  Edmondson  of  Talbot  county.  The  Edmondsons  were 
descended  from  John  Edmondson,  one  of  the  very  early  Quaker 
settlers  in  Maryland,  the  personal  friend  and  correspondent  of 


1NTR  OD  UCTION.  i  x 

John  Fox,  the  Founder  of  the  Society.  Fox,  in  his  Journal 
(Part  second,  London,  1709)  mentions  two  visits  which  he  paid 
to  John  Edmondson,  at  his  hospitable  home  on  Tred haven  Creek 
near  Easton,  on  the  18th  of  July  and  3d  of  August,  1672.  John 
Edmondson  was  the  second  Quaker  elected  to  the  Colonial  Legis- 
lature of  Maryland.  Pollard  Edmondson,  by  whose  time,  how- 
ever, the  family  had  become  Episcopalians,  was  also  a  member  of 
the  Colonial  Legislature,  and  a  delegate  from  Talbot  county  to 
the  Convention  of  1776,  which  framed  the  first  Constitution  of 
the  State  of  Maryland.  He  was  afterwards  a  member  of  the 
State  Legislature  under  that  Constitution. 

Philip  Wallis,  the  father  of  Severn  Teackle  Wallis,  was  the  sou 
and  only  child  of  Samuel  Wallis  of  Kent  county,  where  the  family 
was  settled  in  the  early  part  of  the  18th  century.  Inheriting  a 
considerable  landed  estate  in  Kent  and  Queen  Anne  counties, 
from  his  father,  young  Philip  Wallis,  after  leaving  Washington 
College,  Kent  County,  Maryland,  studied  law  in  the  office  of  the 
Hon.  James  A.  Bayard,  in  Wilmington,  Delaware,  but  never 
appears  to  have  practised  the  profession.  After  his  marriage  to 
Miss  Teackle,  and  the  birth  of  his  eldest  son,  Philip,  he  removed 
in  1816  from  Easton  to  Baltimore,  where  all  his  other  children, 
four  sons  and  three  daughters,  were  born,  and  where  he  lived  in 
a  house  on  North  Charles  street  nearly  opposite  the  Cathedral  and 
the  residence  of  the  Archbishop,  until  he  finally  removed  in  1837 
to  Mississippi,  where  he  owned  a  plantation  near  Yazoo  city.  He 
is  represented  to  have  been  a  man  of  taste  and  cultivation,  and 
appears  to  have  encouraged  the  early  bent  of  his  son  Teackle, 
towards  literature,  especially  poetry  and  the  classics.  He  died 
October  23d,  1844,  being  killed  by  the  explosion  of  the  boiler  of 
a  steamboat  on  the  Ohio  river. 

On  the  maternal  side,  Mr.  Wallis  was  descended  from  the 
Reverend  Thomas  Teackle,  a  native  of  Gloucestershire,  England, 
who  settled  in  Accomack  county,  Virginia,  in  1652.  He  was  the 
son  of  a  Royalist,  who  was  killed  in  the  service  of  King  Charles  I, 
and  was  the  first  clergyman  of  the  Established  Church  of  Eng- 
land settled  on  the  Eastern  Shore  of  Virginia.  He  received 
grants  of  land  in  1652  and  1668,  and  his  parish  at  one  time 


x  INTE  OD  UCTION. 

included  the  whole  of  Accomack  and  Northampton  counties. 
His  estate,  "Craddock,"  upon  which  he  lived,  and  where  he 
died  and  was  buried,  January  26th,  1695,  still  retains  the  name 
he  gave  it. 

Mr.  Wallis's  maternal  grandfather,  Severn  Teackle,  for  whom 
he  was  named,  was  an  officer  in  the  Revolutionary  army,  a 
lieutenant  in  1776  in  the  9th  Virginia  Regiment  "on  Conti- 
nental Establishment,"  a  captain  in  the  same  regiment  in  1779, 
afterwards  transferred  to  the  5th  Regiment,  Virginia  Line.  Cap- 
tain Teackle  was  taken  prisoner  either  at  Brandy  wine  or  German- 
town,  in  which  latter  engagement  his  regiment  was  conspicuous  for 
its  gallantry,  losing  nearly  half  of  its  number  in  killed  and  wounded. 
In  a  memorandum  appended  by  Mr.  Wallis,  apparently  in  1893, 
to  a  copy  of  the  "Genealogical  Record  (MS.)  of  the  Teackle  and 
Edmondson  Families"  in  his  possession,  he  says:  "I  have  not 
analyzed  the  record  so  as  to  notice  whether  there  were  any  inter- 
marriages with  the  Severn  family.  There  was  a  young  gentleman 
of  that  name,  a  lieutenant  in  the  same  regiment  with  my  grand- 
father." The  records  of  the  Virginia  Land  Office  show  a  grant  of 
land  in  Northampton  county  to  John  Severn,  on  October  8th,  1644, 
and  the  intimacy  between  the  Severn  family  and  the  descendants 
of  the  Reverend  Thomas  Teackle,  appears  from  the  frequency 
of  the  use  of  Severn  as  a  baptismal  name  in  all  the  families  of 
the  Teackle  connection,  the  Upshurs,  Eyres,  Bowdoins,  Parkers 
and  others. 

Of  a  large  family  consisting,  as  already  mentioned,  of  five  sons 
and  three  daughters,  Mr.  Wallis  was  for  many  years  prior  to  his 
death  the  sole  survivor,  with  the  exception  of  one  brother,  who  is 
still  living,  Mr.  John  S.  Wallis,  formerly  of  New  Orleans,  but 
now  a  resident  of  Baltimore.  Mr.  Wallis's  father  died,  as  stated, 
in  1-S44,  his  mother  in  1852.  Of  the  sons,  only  the  eldest,  Philip, 
and  the  youngest,  John  S.,  ever  married.  The  three  daughters 
died  unmarried ;  the  eldest,  Miss  Elizabeth  Custis  Wallis,  lived 
with  her  brother  in  Baltimore  for  sonic  years  and  until  her  death 
in  18<i7. 

Mr.  Wallis's  own  life,  with  the  exception  of  several  visits 
abroad  and  the  period  of  his  enforced  absence  while  a  prisoner 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  xi 

during  the  civil  war,  was  passed  mainly  in  the  State  of  Maryland 
and  the  city  of  Baltimore.  There  he  received  both  his  academic 
and  his  professional  education ;  there  he  made  his  home  and  did 
his  life's  work.  After  receiving  elementary  instruction  at  a  pri- 
vate school,  he  was  entered  as  a  student  at  St.  Mary's  College,  an 
institution  which  was  founded  in  Baltimore  in  the  latter  part  of 
the  18th  century  by  members  of  the  Society  of  St.  Sulpice  in 
Paris,  who  found  in  this  country  a  refuge  from  the  storms  of  the 
French  Revolution.  It  was  raised  to  the  rank  of  a  university  by 
Act  of  the  Legislature  of  Maryland  in  1805,  and  for  many  years 
enjoyed  a  high  reputation  as  a  collegiate  institution  in  the  United 
States,  Canada,  and  the  neighboring  States  of  Mexico  and  South 
America,  from  all  of  which  it  drew  a  large  number  of  pupils.  It 
exists  to-day  only  as  a  Seminary  for  the  education  and  training 
of  young  men  for  the  Catholic  priesthood,  according  to  the  original 
purpose  and  design  of  the  Sulpitian  Society.  At  St.  Mary's, 
young  Wallis  was  graduated  Bachelor  of  Arts  at  the  age  of  six- 
teen, and  two  years  later  was  admitted  Master  of  Arts,  and  in 
1841  his  Alma  Mater  conferred  upon  him  the  honorary  degree  of 
Doctor  of  Laws. 

In  1832,  immediately  after  leaving  college,  Mr.  Wallis  began 
the  study  of  the  law  in  Baltimore,  in  the  office  of  the  celebrated 
William  Wirt,  the  distinguished  orator  and  jurist,  who,  from  1817 
to  1829,  under  two  Presidents  and  three  administrations,  held  the 
office  of  Attorney  General  of  the  United  States.  Upon  the  death 
of  Mr.  Wirt  in  1834,  Mr.  Wallis  continued  his  studies  in  the 
office  of  Mr.  John  Glenn,  a  leading  and  successful  lawyer,  who, 
upon  his  retirement  from  the  bar  many  years  later,  was  appointed 
Judge  of  the  United  States  District  Court.  In  September,  1837, 
at  the  age  of  twenty-one,  Mr.  Wallis  was  admitted  to  the  bar. 

While  at  St.  Mary's  he  had  evinced  great  fondness  for  and 
acquired  considerable  proficiency  in  the  study  of  the  Spanish 
language  and  literature,  in  which  pursuit  he  derived  both  encour- 
agement and  assistance  from  a  highly  accomplished  Spanish 
scholar  and  gentleman,  Don  Jose  Antonio  Pizarro,  Spanish  Vice- 
Consul  at  Baltimore,  and  for  many  years  a  professor  at  St.  Mary's, 
with  whom  Mr.  Wallis  kept  up  a  warm  friendship  and  inti- 


xii  INTRODUCTION. 

macy,  which  lasted  until  Mr.  Pizarro's  death  at  a  very  advanced 
age.  The  old  gentleman  in  his  youth  had  been  an  officer  in  the 
Spanish  army  during  the  French  invasion  (1810-1812),  and  was 
wounded  at  the  siege  of  Cadiz.  In  recognition  of  his  attainments, 
in  1844,  Mr.  Wallis  had  the  honor  of  being  elected  a  correspond- 
ing member  of  the  Royal  Academy  of  History  at  Madrid.  This 
was  not,  however,  the  only  distinction  his  reputation  as  a  scholar 
won  for  him  abroad.  In  1846  he  was  made  a  Fellow  of  the 
Royal  Society  of  Northern  Antiquaries  at  Copenhagen.  In  1847, 
being  in  somewhat  delicate  health,  which  his  friends  thought 
would  be  benefited  by  a  sea-voyage,  he  was  persuaded  to  go 
abroad,  and  for  the  first  time  then  visited  Spain.  The  fruits  of 
his  keen  observation  and  thorough  appreciation  of  what  he  saw 
upon  this  visit,  were  embodied  upon  his  return  in  a  modest  volume 
bearing  the  title  of  Glimpses  of  Spain;  or,  Notes  of  an  Unfinished 
Tour,  published  by  Harper  &  Brothers  in  1849. 

The  publication  of  this  book,  together  with  Mr.  Wallis's  already 
high  reputation  as  a  lawyer,  doubtless  contributed  to  his  selection 
by  the  Government  at  Washington,  for  an  important  professional 
mission.  In  1849  he  revisited  Spain,  commissioned  by  the  Secre- 
tary of  the  Interior  to  examine  and  report  upon  the  title  to  public 
lands  in  Florida,  as  affected  by  Spanish  grants  made  during  the 
pendency  of  negotiations  with  this  country  in  1819.  Thus  accred- 
ited to  the  Spanish  authorities  in  an  official  way,  and  with  the 
familiarity  with  the  country  and  the  people  already  acquired  during 
his  previous  visit,  Mr.  Wallia  enjoyed  exceptional  opportunities 
for  obtaining  information  not  always  accessible  to  the  ordinary 
tourist.  His  second  book  on  Spain,  published  upon  his  return, 
entitled  Spain;  Her  Institutions,  Politics  and  Public  Men,  although 
but  "  a  sketch,"  as  he  calls  it,  contained  in  a  small  compass  the  best 
account  of  Spanish  politics  at  that  time,  and  of  the  then  existing 
constitution  of  the  monarchy,  within  the  reach  of  English  readers. 

Mr.  Wallis  revisited  Europe  in  1856  and  again  in  1884,  but 
after  his  return  in  1849,  his  life  for  a  time  passed  uneventfully, 
being  devoted  almost  exclusively  to  the  practice  of  the  law,  with 
occasional  excursions  into  the  fields  of  politics  and  of  literature. 
His  practice  was  a  large  and  growing  one,  and  as  lucrative  as 


INTRODUCTION.  xm 

with  his  very  moderate  ideas  upon  the  subject  of  professional 
fees  and  compensation,  he  permitted  it  to  be.  He  enjoyed  the 
reputation  of  being  a  safe  and  wise  counsellor  and  adviser,  as 
well  as  that  of  being  one  of  the  most  eloquent  and  persuasive 
advocates  at  the  Maryland  bar.  His  appearances  were  frequent 
at  the  bar  of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of  the  State  and  of  the 
Supreme  Court  of  the  United  States,  in  cases  of  importance. 
From  being  one  of  the  favorite  juniors  and  associates  of  the  great 
leaders  of  the  bar — Reverdy  Johnson,  John  Nelson  and  others,  he 
had  won  his  own  way  to  a  place  in  the  front  rank  of  leadership. 

Mr.  Wallis's  attitude  in  political  matters,  and  his  relation  to 
party  politics  were  always  somewhat  peculiar.  He  was  by  nature 
and  temperament  an  ardent  partisan.  He  espoused,  with  the 
same  fervor  that  he  did  the  cause  of  a  client,  the  political  cause 
and  principles  which  commended  themselves  most  strongly  to 
the  approval  of  his  intellect  and  his  conscience.  He  never  sur- 
rendered, however,  to  any  claims  of  partisanship,  or,  upon  any 
plea  of  party  discipline  or  expediency,  his  own  personal  inde- 
pendence and  reserved  right  of  individual  freedom  of  action. 
His  own  interests  or  ambition  had  nothing  to  do  with  shaping 
his  political  convictions.  He  spoke  and  wrote  and  acted  in 
politics,  as  he  personally  thought  and  felt  that  truth  and  justice 
required.  Party  success  he  regarded  simply  as  a  means  to  an 
end,  that  end  being  with  him  always  the  triumph  of  the  right 
as  he  saw  it  and  believed  in  it.  Consequently,  with  all  the 
warmth  and  intensity  of  his  partisanship,  Mr.  Wallis  was  never 
regarded  as  a  good  "  party  man  "  in  the  usual  acceptation  of  the 
term.  He  did  not  hesitate  to  withdraw  from  the  support  of  a 
party  organization  with  which  he  had  previously  co-operated, 
when  he  believed  that  the  organization  itself  had  departed  from 
the  principles  which  had  originally  won  his  allegiance.  In  his 
younger  days  he  was  an  enthusiastic  Whig.  When  the  Whig 
Party  began  to  disintegrate,  one  faction  siding  with  the  newly- 
formed  American  or  "  Know-Nothing"  organization,  and  another 
drifting  into  the  ranks  of  the  "  Free-Soilers,"  Mr.  Wallis  did  not 
hesitate  to  identify  himself  with  the  Democratic  Party.  In  that 
political  faith  and  fellowship  he  continued,  while  reserving  to 


xiv  INTRODUCTION. 

himself  and  exercising  freely  the  same  independence  of  thought 
and  action  which  had  characterized  his  whole  previous  political 
career.  In  1857,  he  was  offered  the  position  of  United  States 
District  Attorney  by  President  Buchanan,  but  for  personal  rea- 
sons, declined  it.  He  never  sought  political  preferment,  and 
never  held  political  office  except  when  its  acceptance  involved 
personal  risk  and  suffering,  and  proved  the  passport  to  a  prison. 

In  1858,  Mr.  Wallis  wrote  the  Reform  Address  to  the  citizens 
of  Baltimore,  which,  appearing  over  his  signature  and  that  of  a 
few  other  gentlemen,  resulted  in  the  Reform  movement  which 
culminated  in  the  passage  of  the  Election  and  Police  Bills 
by  the  Legislature  of  1860,  and  the  election,  in  October  of  that 
year,  of  a  Reform  Mayor  and  City  Council  for  the  city  of  Balti- 
more. The  constitutionality  of  the  new  Police  Law  being  con- 
tested in  the  courts,  Mr.  Wallis  who  had  taken  an  active  part 
in  drafting  the  bill,  was  one  of  the  counsel  who  appeared  for  the 
newly  constituted  Board  of  Police  Commissioners,  and  successfully 
argued  their  case  before  the  Court  of  Appeals  at  Annapolis. 

In  1861,  the  increasing  estrangement  between  the  North  and 
the  South,  following  upon  the  incessant  agitation  of  the  Slavery 
Question,  and  the  election  of  President  Lincoln,  resulted  in  civil 
war.  At  the  outset  of  the  Secession  movement  in  the  South,  the 
position  of  Maryland  as  a  Border  State,  and  with  a  population 
divided  in  its  sympathies,  was  felt  to  be  most  critical.  Mr. 
Wallis's  position  and  actions  during  that  eventful  and  perilous 
time,  are  best  illustrated  by  his  own  speeches  and  writings. 
"Without  enlarging  upon  the  facts  of  history,  further  than  to 
explain  those  incidents  in  Mr.  Wallis's  personal  experience,  which 
would  necessarily  find  a  place  in  any  sketch,  however  meagre, 
of  his  life,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  that  he  fully  shared  that  feeling 
of  personal  sympathy  with  the  South  which  was  entertained 
by  a  large  proportion,  to  say  the  least,  of  the  cultivated  and 
educated  people  of  the  State.  This  would  seem  to  have  been 
the  natural  consequence,  to  seek  no  farther  for  reasons,  of  Mr. 
Wallis's  ancestry,  education  and  personal  tastes  and  associations. 
He  felt  as  gentlemen  of  his  class  and  position  very  generally  felt 
in  Maryland.  Yet  this  feeling  of  sympathy  with  the  people  of  his 


INTRODUCTION.  xv 

own  blood  and  section  was  not  stronger  than  his  attachment  to  the 
Union  of  the  States,  as  formed  and  contemplated  by  the  Federal 
Constitution.  This  attachment  on  Mr.  Wallis's  part  was  strong 
and  sincere,  and  he  cherished  the  hope  until  hope  was  no  longer 
possible,  that  a  way  might  be  found  to  stay  the  tide  of  popular 
passion,  both  North  and  South,  and  to  avert  the  horrible  calamity 
of  a  disrupted  Union  and  of  an  internecine  war.  On  February 
1st,  1861,  a  town-meeting  was  held  in  the  hall  of  the  Maryland 
Institute  in  Baltimore,  which  was  addressed  by  Mr.  Wallis,  among 
others,  on  the  condition  of  affairs,  the  position  of  the  State  of 
Maryland  and  the  duty  of  her  people.  That  address  speaks  his 
sentiments  at  the  time. 

The  actual  outbreak  of  civil  war,  the  attack  upon  Fort  Su niter, 
the  President's  proclamation  calling  for  volunteers  for  the  defence 
of  the  Capital,  the  hurried  mustering  of  troops  at  the  North,  and 
their  onward  march  to  Washington  in  response  to  the  President's 
call,  the  lamentable  collision  in  the  streets  of  Baltimore,  on  the 
19th  of  April,  1861,  between  a  Massachusetts  regiment  and  an 
excited  body  of  citizens  who  sought  to  obstruct  its  passage 
through  the  city,  followed  in  quick  succession.  On  Sunday, 
the  21st  of  April,  Mr.  Wallis  was  one  of  a  committee  of  citizens, 
who  with  the  Mayor,  had  an  interview  in  Washington  with  Presi- 
dent Lincoln,  his  cabinet  and  General  Winfield  Scott,  and  obtained 
an  order  from  the  President  temporarily  suspending  the  passage 
of  troops  through  Baltimore,  so  as  to  avoid  further  bloodshed,  in 
the  then  frenzied  state  of  the  public  mind. 

On  April  24th,  a  special  election  was  held  in  Baltimore  for 
delegates  to  represent  the  city  in  the  State  Legislature,  which,  in 
consequence  of  the  critical  condition  of  affairs,  was  called  by  the 
Governor  to  meet  in  extra  session  in  the  city  of  Frederick  on 
April  26th.  The  special  election  was  rendered  necessary  by  the 
unseating  of  the  entire  city  delegation,  at  the  previous  regular 
session,  in  consequence  of  gross  fraud  and  violence  held  to  have 
characterized  their  election  on  November  2d,  1859.  Frederick 
was  designated  as  the  place  of  meeting  in  consequence  of  the  State 
capital,  Annapolis,  being  in  military  possession  of  the  Federal 
troops.  On  the  day  of  election  there  was  but  one  ticket  nominated 


xvi  INTRODUCTION. 

and  voted  for,  Mr.  Wallis  being  one  of  the  delegates  elected. 
Upon  the  assembling  of  the  Legislature,  he  was  made  chairman 
of  the  House  Committee  on  Federal  Relations ;  and  on  the  29th 
of  April,  three  days  after  the  Legislature  met,  the  House  of  Dele- 
gates, by  a  vote  of  53  to  12,  approved  a  report  and  resolutions 
from  the  committee,  drafted  by  Mr.  Wallis,  declaring  that  the 
General  Assembly  of  the  State  of  Maryland  had  no  power  to  pass 
an  ordinance  of  secession.  On  the  2d  day  of  May  the  Committee 
on  Federal  Relations  presented  a  further  report  and  resolutions, 
also  drawn  by  Mr.  Wallis,  for  the  appointment  of  Commissioners 
to  visit  Washington  and  confer  with  the  President  in  regard  to 
reopening  and  restoring  communication  between  Baltimore  and 
the  North,  which  had  been  interrupted  since  the  19th  of  April. 
The  report  and  resolutions  were  approved  by  both  Houses  of  the 
Legislature.  On  the  10th  of  May  the  same  committee  submitted 
a  report  and  resolutions,  also  prepared  by  Mr.  Wallis,  reviewing 
the  actual  condition  of  affairs,  and  the  relation  of  the  State  of 
Maryland  to  the  Federal  Government,  and  declaring  that  it  was 
inexpedient  to  call  a  Sovereign  Convention  of  the  people  of  the 
State  to  consider  the  question  of  secession.  The  report  and  reso- 
lutions were  adopted,  and  on  the  14th  the  Legislature  adjourned 
to  meet  again  at  Frederick  on  the  4th  of  June. 

On  the  day  that  the  Legislature  adjourned,  Mr.  Ross  Winaus, 
one  of  the  delegates  from  Baltimore,  was  arrested  while  re- 
turning from  Frederick  to  his  home,  without  legal  warrant,  by 
a  military  force,  acting  under  orders  from  Major-General  B.  F. 
Butler,  and  taken  to  Fort  McHenry,  whence  he  was  afterwards 
transferred  to  Fortress  Monroe.  Other  military  arrests  followed 
rapidly.  On  the  27th  of  June,  while  the  Legislature  was  again 
in  session,  having  reassembled  at  Frederick,  pursuant  to  adjourn- 
ment, the  Marshal  of  Police  of  Baltimore,  was  arrested  at  his 
home,  at  three  o'clock  in  the  morning,  by  a  military  force, 
and  confined  in  Fort  McHenry.  On  the  1st  of  July,  the  arrest 
of  the  entire  Board  of  Police  Commissioners  of  Baltimore  city 
followed,  the  Commissioners  being  apprehended  at  their  respective 
homes,  between  the  hours  of  three  and  five  in  the  morning,  and  con- 
veyed under  guard  to  the  fort.  The  spirited  memorial  addressed 


INTRODUCTION.  xvii 

by  the  Commissioners  to  the  Senate  and  House  of  Representatives 
of  the  United  States,  upon  the  subject  of  their  arbitrary  arrest 
and  imprisonment  was  from  the  pen  of  Mr.  Wallis.  On  the  5th 
of  August,  both  Houses  of  the  Legislature  of  Maryland  adopted 
a  report  and  resolutions  submitted  by  a  joint  committee  of  which 
Mr.  Wallis  was  chairman  upon  the  same  subject.  To  a  copy  of 
this  report,  among  Mr.  Wallis's  papers,  the  following  note  in  his 
handwriting  is  appended.  "  If  my  participation,"  is  the  lan- 
guage of  the  note,  "  in  the  events  of  these  times  should  be  the 
subject,  hereafter,  of  remembrance  or  consideration,  I  am  willing 
that  my  reputation  for  personal  and  political  rectitude  and  for 
fidelity  to  the  institutions  of  my  State  and  the  Union,  shall 
depend  upon  the  judgment  which  may  be  passed  on  this  Report." 
—(signed)  "  S.  T.  Wallis,  May  24th,  1863." 

On  the  night  of  the  12th  of  September,  1861,  Mr.  Wallis  was 
arrested  at  his  dwelling  in  St.  Paul  street,  Baltimore,  by  order 
of  Major-General  John  A.  Dix,  commanding  at  Fort  McHenry. 
The  order  addressed  to  the  Provost  Marshal  of  Baltimore,  directed 
the  "  arrest  without  an  hour's  delay  "  of  the  Mayor  of  the  city, 
George  William  Brown,  Esq.,  the  members  of  the  Legislature 
from  Baltimore  city,  and  of  several  other  persons  therein  named. 
Other  arrests  took  place  the  same  night  in  pursuance  of  direct 
ordei-s  from  Washington,  including  that  of  the  Hon.  Henry  May, 
a  member  of  Congress  at  the  time,  from  Maryland.  The  prisoners 
were  taken  under  guard  to  Fort  McHeury,  and  on  the  afternoon 
of  the  following  day,  conveyed  by  boat  to  Fortress  Monroe,  and 
about  two  weeks  later  transported  by  sea  to  Fort  Lafayette,  in 
New  York  Harbor.  In  November,  they  were  again  removed  to 
Fort  Warren  in  Boston  Harbor,  where  they  remained  without 
trial  until  the  latter  part  of  November,  1862,  when  Mr.  Wallis 
and  thirteen  others,  all  but  one  of  whom  were  from  Maryland,  and 
all  of  whom  had  been  prisoners  for  a  period  varying  from  fourteen 
to  seventeen  months,  were  unconditionally  released  by  order  of 
the  Secretary  of  War,  and  allowed  to  return  to  their  homes. 

Naturally  of  a  delicate  constitution,  and  frequently  an  invalid, 
Mr.  Wallis  suffered  keenly  from  the  physical  privations  incident 
to  his  imprisonment.     The  cold  and  bleak  climate  of  the  New 
iii 


x  vi  ii  INTROD  UCTION. 

England  coast  in  winter,  aggravated  constitutional  ailments  to 
which  he  had  long  been  subject,  and  he  suffered  greatly  from  the 
want  of  comforts  to  which  he  had  been  accustomed,  and  which 
to  a  valetudinarian  had  become  a  necessity.  At  Fortress  Monroe, 
he  was  confined  for  fourteen  days,  with  a  number  of  others,  in  one 
of  the  casemates  of  the  Fort,  closely  guarded  and  under  lock  and 
key.  At  Fort  Warren,  where  he  spent  more  than  twelve  months 
of  his  captivity,  he  was  assigned  with  others  to  a  single  room  in 
the  officers'  quarters  of  the  Fort,  but  with  larger  liberty  and 
opportunity  for  exercise.  Other  alleviations  of  strict  prison  life, 
which  were  unknown  at  Fortress  Monroe  or  Fort  Lafayette,  were 
here  permitted.  Prisoners  were  allowed  to  receive  books  and 
papers,  to  make  such  additions,  as  their  means  permitted,  to  the 
ordinary  army  rations  furnished  by  the  government,  and  to  cor- 
respond with  their  friends,  subject  to  the  restriction  that  all  letters 
sent  or  received  were  required  to  be  previously  read  by  an  officer 
assigned  to  that  duty.  But  beyond  any  sense  of  physical  re- 
straint or  hardships,  Mr.  Wallis's  spirit  constantly  chafed  under 
what  he  regarded  as  the  intolerable  wrong  and  injustice  of  his 
arbitrary  arrest  and  incarceration.  His  views  upon  this  subject 
find  full  expression  in  the  letter  which  shortly  after  his  release, 
he  addressed  to  the  Hon.  John  Sherman,  in  reply  to  some  obser- 
vations made  by  the  latter  in  a  speech  in  the  United  States 
Senate,  in  reference  to  the  Maryland  arrests. 

Mr.  Wallis  bore  himself  during  the  long  months  of  his  con- 
finement, with  unfailing  dignity  and  fortitude.  His  common-place 
book,  in  which  he  was  in  the  habit  of  setting  down  for  future 
reference  things  new  or  interesting  which  he  had  noted  in  his 
daily  reading,  bears  witness  to  his  power  of  mental  abstraction, 
and  to  the  relief  which  he  found  in  literature  from  the  small 
annoyances  as  well  as  graver  burdens  of  his  prison-life.  By  the 
charm  of  his  conversation,  bright  and  entertaining  as  if  prison 
walls  had  no  existence,  he  helped  to  beguile  the  tedium  of  a  con- 
finement which  weighed  heavily  upon  his  companions  as  well  as 
upon  himself.  By  numberless  acts  of  kindness  and  of  charity, 
he  contributed  to  alleviate  the  lot  of  others  less  fortunate  and 
well-provided  for  than  himself.  At  times  the  number  of  prisoners 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  xix 

in  Fort  Warren,  including  those  who  were  captured  in  battle, 
amounted  to  many  hundreds,  of  whom  the  greater  number  brought 
nothing  with  them  but  the  clothes  they  wore  when  they  were 
captured. 

After  his  release  from  Fort  Warren,  in  November,  1862,  Mr. 
Wallis  returned  to  Baltimore  and  resumed  the  thread  of  his  inter- 
rupted professional  life.  The  years  which  followed  were  perhaps 
those  of  his  greatest  professional  success.  During  these  years 
also,  some  of  his  best  literary  work  was  accomplished,  and  his 
most  important  public  services  rendered,  while  still  remaining  in 
private  station.  After  the  State  Constitution  of  1867  had  removed 
all  the  barriers  to  political  preferment,  which  had  been  raised 
during  the  war,  and  had  opened  the  way  for  the  return  to  power 
of  men  of  Mr.  Wallis's  opinions,  there  was  a  time  when  he  un- 
doubtedly could  have  held  any  office,  in  the  gift  of  his  fellow- 
citizens  of  Baltimore  or  Maryland,  if  his  ambition  and  tastes  had 
led  him  in  that  direction.  On,  at  least,  two  occasions  after  the 
administration  of  the  municipal  government  of  Baltimore  had 
passed  into  the  hands  of  the  Democratic  party,  he  was  offered  the 
position  of  chief  law  officer  of  the  city.  He  was  also  urged  to 
allow  the  use  of  his  name  as  a  candidate  for  Congress.  These, 
and  other  offers,  he  declined,  partly  because  official  life  really  had 
no  temptations  for  him,  and  partly  because  of  his  uncertain  and 
gradually  failing  health.  At  the  same  time  his  interest  in  public 
affairs  continued  without  abatement.  He  labored  constantly  and 
earnestly,  with  voice  and  pen,  to  bring  others,  especially  young 
men,  to  that  high  standard  of  unselfish  and  independent  action  in 
political  matters,  which  he  felt  was  becoming  more  and  more 
necessary  and  more  rare,  alike  in  party  management  and  in  public 
administration.  Every  movement  which  seemed  to  carry  with  it 
the  hope  and  promise  of  political  Reform,  appealed  to  his  sympa- 
thy and  was  sure  of  his  active  support.  Thus,  he  was  prominently 
identified,  from  the  outset,  both  with  the  Civil  Service  Reform 
Association  of  Maryland  and  the  Reform  League  of  Baltimore 
city,  of  which  latter  organization  he  continued  to  be  the  President 
until  his  death.  Only  once  did  he  suffer  his  reluctance  to  be  a 
candidate  for  office  to  be  overcome.  This  was  in  1875  when,  being 


x  x  INTR  OD  UCTION. 

at  the  time  ill  in  New  York  city  and  unable  to  take  any  active 
part  in  the  canvass,  he  accepted  the  nomination  for  Attorney 
General  of  the  State  upon  a  ticket  which  was  supported  by  Re- 
publicans and  Independent  Democrats.  The  ticket  was  defeated, 
but  the  fairness  of  the  election  and  of  the  return  made  of  the 
votes  cast  being  called  in  question,  Mr.  Wallis  instituted  legal 
proceedings  with  a  view  to  having  the  matter  judicially  inquired 
into,  but  the  Court  of  Appeals  held  that  it  was  without  jurisdic- 
tion, and  nothing  was  done  in  the  premises.  Mr.  Wallis's  defeat 
could  hardly,  under  the  circumstances,  be  considered  as  a  test  of 
his  personal  popularity,  since  many  of  his  friends  and  admirers 
disapproved  of  the  coalition  with  the  Republicans,  and  withheld 
their  support  from  him  on  that  account. 

Gradually,  with  advancing  years,  his  health  began  to  break. 
He  was  compelled  to  curtail  the  labors  for  which  his  spirit  was 
always  willing,  but  to  which  the  flesh  was  no  longer  equal.  The 
intellectual  fire  was  unabated,  but  his  appearances  on  public 
occasions,  upon  the  political  platform,  and  in  court,  became  less 
frequent.  During  the  late  winter  and  spring  of  1894,  he  was 
seldom  able  to  leave  his  house.  Finally,  on  the  llth  of  April  of 
1.S94,  less  from  the  inroads  of  disease  than  from  the  gradual 
weakening  and  exhaustion  of  the  vital  forces,  he  quietly  and 
painlessly  passed  away,  in  the  seventy-eighth  year  of  his  age. 
His  body,  after  funeral  services  in  St.  Paul's  Church,  Baltimore, 
was  deposited  in  his  own  lot  in  Greenmount  Cemetery,  where 
also  are  buried  his  mother,  two  brothers  who  died  in  infancy, 
three  sisters,  and  his  venerable  friend,  Mr.  Pizarro. 

Although  remarkable  for  the  strength  and  tenderness  of  his 
personal  attachments,  Mr.  Wallis  never  married.  He  was  most 
domestic  in  his  tastes  and  habits.  He  loved  his  home,  his  books 
and  the  society  of  his  friends,  whom  he  delighted  to  have  about 
him,  ami  who  found  him  at  all  times  the  most  charming  of  hosts 
and  companions.  The  grief  of  his  friends  at  his  death  was  shared 
by  the  community  at  large.  Certainly  no  instance  can  be  recalled 
of  any  one  not  in  high  public  station  whose  death  has  called  forth 
so  many  tributes  of  respect  and  affection  from  the  people  of  Mary- 
land. The  various  public;  bodies  and  institutions  with  which  he 


INTRODUCTION.  XXI 

had  been  identified  while  living, — the  Trustees  of  the  Peabody 
Institute,  and  the  Maryland  Historical  Society,  of  both  of  which 
bodies  he  was  President ;  the  Regents  of  the  University  of  Mary- 
land, of  which  he  was  Provost,  and  others, — held  meetings  and 
took  appropriate  proceedings  to  testify  to  their  sense  of  the  loss 
which  they,  in  common  with  the  whole  community,  had  sustained. 
Among  these  tributes,  for  which  it  would  be  impossible  to  afford 
space  here,  there  are  two,  however,  which  may  be  thought  to 
furnish  an  appropriate  and  fitting  conclusion  to  this  memorial 
sketch.  One  is  the  Minute  of  the  Bench  and  Bar  of  Maryland, 
originally  adopted  at  a  Bar  meeting  in  Baltimore,  held  immedi- 
ately after  Mr.  Wallis's  death,  and  subsequently  ordered  to  be 
recorded  among  the  proceedings  of  the  Supreme  Bench  of  that 
city,  together  with  the  remarks  of  the  late  Chief  Judge  Robinson, 
of  the  Court  of  Appeals  of  Maryland,  on  the  occasion  of  the  pre- 
sentation of  the  same  Minute  to  that  Court  at  Annapolis. 

The  other  tribute,  which  is  of  a  more  personal  character,  but 
none  the  less  valuable  and  interesting  on  that  account,  is  from 
the  pen  of  Mr.  Wallis's  friend  and  physician,  Dr.  Samuel  C. 
Chew,  who  attended  him  in  his  last  illness  and  was  with  him 
when  he  died.  It  appears  in  the  proceedings  of  the  Trustees  of 
the  Peabody  Institute  on  the  occasion  of  Mr.  Wallis's  death. 


The  following  is  the  "Memorial  Minute"  of  the  Bench  and 
Bar  as  it  appears  in  the  77th  volume  of  the  Reports  of  the  Court 
of  Appeals  of  Maryland  : 

"The  death  of  Severn  Teackle  Wallis  is  an  event  which  arrests  the 
attention  of  every  citizen  of  Maryland,  and  is  recognized  as  a  great  public 
bereavement  from  one  end  of  the  Commonwealth  to  the  other.  Everywhere 
and  by  everybody  it  is  felt  that  Maryland  has  lost  her  foremost  citizen. 

"  For  us  who  were  his  professional  brethren,  who  knew,  and,  therefore, 
admired  and  honored  him,  it  would  suffice  to  add  to  the  bare  mention  of 
his  death,  'no  praise  can  be  equal  to  so  great  a  name,'  but,  for  the  honor  of 
the  profession,  it  is  fitting  that  we  record  our  estimate  of  him  as  a  lawyer 
and  a  man. 

"lie  has  closed,  at  the  ripe  age  of  seventy-seven,  a  professional  career 
which,  extending  over  more  than  half  a  century,  is,  in  many  respects,  with- 


xxii  INTRODUCTION. 

out  an  example  or  a  parallel  in  the  annals  of  our  Bar.  Great  men  and 
lawyers  the  Maryland  Bar  has  furnished  heretofore,  who  have  risen  to  the 
highest  judicial  positions  in  the  land,  and  filled  with  honor  the  office  of 
Attorney-General  of  the  United  States.  Without  obtaining  any  of  these 
great  rewards  and  dignities  of  the  profession,  Mr.  Wallis  nevertheless 
reached  a  height  of  professional  eminence  which  entitles  him  to  rank 
among  the  first  and  ablest  of  these  distinguished  men. 

"But  Mr.  Wallis's  especial  greatness  as  a  lawyer  was  that  he  was  so 
much  more  than  a  lawyer.  To  the  accurate  and  varied  learning  of  the 
profession,  he  added  the  grace  and  culture  of  the  scholar,  and  the  charm  of 
an  eloquence  which  made  him  one  of  the  foremost  and  most  persuasive 
orators  of  our  times.  Above  all,  he  brought  to  the  practice  of  the  pro- 
fession, in  all  its  relations,  the  loftiest  standards  of  professional  duty  and 
honor.  The  purity  of  his  life,  and  nobility  and  dignity  of  his  character, 
his  scorn  of  everything  sordid,  base  or  mean,  the  kindness  of  his  heart,  and 
the  grace  and  charm  of  his  manner,  added  to  the  wealth  and  abundance  of 
his  intellectual  gifts  and  accomplishments,  made  him  the  finest  type  and 
model  of  what  a  great  lawyer  can  be.  As  such,  this  Bar  will  ever  cherish 
his  memory,  and  the  generous  aspiration  of  future  generations  will  find  in 
his  life  and  fame  a  perpetual  incentive  to  noble  endeavor. 

"Mr.  Wallis  recognized  and  illustrated  in  the  highest  degree  the  obliga- 
tions which  the  profession  owes  to  the  public,  as  the  guardian  and  defender 
of  its  political  rights,  its  civil  and  religious  liberties.  No  better  or  more 
public-spirited  citizen,  no  purer  or  more  unselfish  patriot  ever  lived  in  this 
community.  In  the  darkest  hour  of  civil  strife,  when  the  law  was  silent  in 
the  midst  of  the  din  of  arms,  he  showed  a  courage  and  constancy  as  great 
as  was  ever  displayed  on  the  field  of  battle. 

"  In  the  liberality  of  his  views  and  generosity  of  his  heart,  he  strove  to 
leave  no  duty,  public  or  private,  unfulfilled,  and  acknowledged  no  limit  to 
his  obligations  except  the  lack  of  opportunity  or  want  of  physical  strength. 
The  universal  sorrow  with  which  the  announcement  of  his  death,  although 
not  unexpected,  has  been  received,  attests  the  appreciation  by  men  of  all 
elates,  creeds  and  parties,  of  the  nobility  and  usefulness  of  his  life  and  their 
sense  of  the  public  loss  occasioned  by  his  death. 

"  AVWtv/,  That  in  the  death  of  SEVERN  TKACKLK  WALLIS  the  Bar  of 
Maryland  has  lost  its  brightest  ornament,  his  friends  a  cherished  and 
revered  companion,  and  the  State  its  noblest  citizen." 

Chief  Judge  Robinson,  on  behalf  of  the  Court  of  Appeals, 
responded  as  follows : 

"Few  men  have  died  in  Maryland  whose  death  has  been  so  universally 
and  so  sincerely  lamented  as  that  of  Mr.  Wallis.  His  brethren  of  the  Bar 
and  the  Judges  of  the  several  Courts,  the  daily  witnesses  of  his  professional 


INTRODUCTION.  xxiii 

life,  and  the  press  throughout  the  State,  have  all  united  in  touching  and 
affectionate  tributes  to  his  memory.  Few  men,  if  any,  have  ever  better 
deserved  such  tributes.  This  spontaneous  and  reverent  homage  to  his 
attainments  and  character  as  a  lawyer,  to  his  rare  intellectual  gifts  and 
accomplishments,  and  to  the  purity  of  his  private  and  public  life,  is  the 
best  evidence  of  the  high  place  he  held  in  the  hearts  of  all  who  knew  him. 
For  more  than  a  half  century  he  has  been  a  conspicuous  member  of  this 
Court,  and  was  of  counsel  in  many  of  the  most  important  cases  before  it. 
Here  was  the  scene  of  many  of  his  best  efforts  and  highest  achievements ; 
and,  though  we  cannot  hope  to  add  anything  to  what  has  been  already  so 
well  and  better  said  by  others,  yet  it  is  eminently  proper  that  we  should 
give  expression  to  our  deep  sense  of  the  loss  we  have  suffered,  and  mingle 
our  own  personal  sorrow  with  the  universal  sorrow  which  his  deatli  has 
occasioned.  Long  before  the  oldest  member  here  was  even  admitted  to  the 
Bar,  he  was  by  general  consent  recognized  as  one  of  its  ablest  leaders ;  and 
this,  too,  at  a  time  when  to  win  such  a  distinction  "was  to  walk  in  the 
footsteps"  and  to  be  measured  by  the  genius  of  that  brilliant  array  of 
lawyers  who  have  shed  an  unfading  lustre  and  renown  upon  the  Bar  of 
Maryland.  With  sucli  men  as  these  he  stood  in  the  foremost  rank,  and 
throughout  his  long  and  successful  career,  he  has  ever  been  distinguished, 
not  only  for  his  eminent  abilities  as  a  lawyer,  but  for  all  those  noble  and 
knightly  qualities  which  elevate  the  profession  and  make  it  worthy  of  one's 
best  faculties  and  highest  aspiration.  He  was  not  only  a  well-read  and 
thoroughly  trained  lawyer,  but  he  was  also  an  accomplished  Belles  Lettres 
scholar.  The  law,  it  has  been  said,  is  a  jealous  mistress,  and  claims  an 
undivided  worship  from  those  who  aspire  to  its  highest  honors.  To  this 
rule,  however,  Mr.  Wallis  was  a  notable  exception.  He  was  fond  of  liter- 
ary pursuits,  and  his  mind  was  enriched  with  the  fruits  of  a  wide  and 
liberal  culture.  And  it  is  not  too  much  to  say  that  his  published  addresses 
and  essays,  for  nobility  of  thought,  elegance  of  expression  and  purity  of 
style,  will  compare  favorably  with  the  best  productions  of  ancient  or 
modern  time. 

"This  is  not  the  time,  however,  or  the  occasion  for  a  eulogy  on  his  life 
and  character.  Less,  however,  we  felt  could  not  be  said.  His  work  is 
ended — nobly,  worthily  ended.  His  death  has  created  a  void  difficult  to 
measure,  and  more  difficult  to  fill.  And  though  he  has  passed  away  from 
us  forever,  the  fruits  of  his  work  will  still  live,  and  the  example  of  his  life 
will  be  an  inspiration  to  those  who  shall  come  after  him,  so  long  as  integrity 
of  life  and  conduct,  and  courageous  fidelity  to  duty,  are  esteemed  as  virtues 
among  men. 

"The  'Memorial  Minute'  of  the  Bench  and  Bar,  together  with  these  pro- 
ceedings, will  be  placed  on  the  records  of  this  Court." 


xxiv  INTRODUCTION. 

At  a  special  meeting,  Monday,  April  16,  1894,  of  the  Board 
of  Trustees  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  called  on  the  occasion  of 
Mr.  Wallis's  death,  Dr.  Samuel  C.  Chew  spoke  as  follows : 

"  Mr.  President : — 1  shall  not  attempt  any  eulogy  of  our  departed  colleague 
and  friend,  for  here  and  elsewhere  the  powers  of  language  have  been  used 
to  their  uttermost  to  portray  the  nobility  of  his  character  and  the  graces  and 
culture  of  his  heart  and  mind.  There  are  those  present  whose  intellects 
have  been  trained  largely  in  the  same  lines  of  study  and  thought  in  which 
his  own  attained  its  splendid  development,  and  it  has  been  their  duty  and 
pleasure  to  make  record  of  what  Severn  Teackle  Wallis  was  as  a  lawyer,  a 
statesman  and  a  true  hearted  patriot  in  the  noblest  sense  of  that  word. 

"These  sides  of  his  character  and  personality  are  known  to  many,  but 
there  is  another  side.  I  have  thought  sometimes  that  the  relations  between 
a  patient  and  his  physician  may  give  the  key  to  certain  qualities  of  that 
patient's  mental  and  spiritual  nature  which  are  not  so  clearly  displayed  to 
others.  And  so,  without,  I  trust,  violating  the  seal  and  the  sacredness  of 
those  relations,  I  feel  it  right  to  say  something  of  the  qualities  which  were 
wrought  in  Mr.  Wallis  by  all  that  he  underwent  through  'that  long  disease 
his  life' — qualities  which  as  one  of  the  mysteries  that  human  life  is  involved 
in,  may  become  more  and  more  increased  and  refined,  until  they  attain,  here 
or  hereafter,  to  that  perfectness  which  conieth  through  suffering. 

"And,  first,  let  me  say  that  in  those  years  during  which  I  had  what  I 
account,  and  always  shall  account,  the  privilege  and  the  benediction  of 
ministering  to  him,  I  never  heard  from  him  one  word  of  repining  against 
that  fate  which  had  given  him  infirmity  and  disease  as  his  portion  in  life. 
Rather  did  the  effort  to  strive  against  their  depressing  influences  bring  an 
increase  of  his  spiritual  and  mental  powers,  so  that,  like  those  of  old,  'out 
of  weakness  he  was  made  strong.'  His  place  was  with  them 

"  '  Who  doomed  to  go  in  company  with  pain, 
Turn  their  necessity  to  glorious  gain. 
In  luce  of  it  can  exurei.se  a  power 
Which  is  our  human  nature's  highest  dower  ; 
Controls  it  and  subdues,  transmutes,  bereaves 
Of  its  bad  influence,  and  its  good  receives.' 

"  Hut  lie  was  much  more  than  patient  in  his  suffering.  After  giving  the 
daily  account  of  his  troubles,  and  the  answers  to  such  questions  as  were 
necessary  for  his  physician's  guidance,  he  would  become  always,  as  those 
who  saw  him  often  will  unite  with  me  in  testifying,  as  bright  and  buoyant 
as  though  pain  had  never  touched  him.  Out  of  his  own  deep  wisdom,  out 
of  the  abundance  of  his  poetic  imagination,  out  of  the  exuberance  of  his 
wit  and  humor,  and  out  of  the  copious  literatures,  English,  Spanish,  French 


INTR  OD  UCTION.  x  x  v 

and  Latin,  with  which  his  mind  was  saturated,  he  would  bring  forth  such 
treasures,  new  and  old,  as  made  his  conversation  the  most  delightful  of 
intellectual  enjoyments. 

"His  was 

"  '  The  cheerful  heart,  which  all  the  rnuses  love  ; 
The  souring  spirit,  which  is  their  prime  delight.' 

"There  are  many  memories  crowded  in  my  mind,  which,  if  time  allowed, 
I  might  evoke  to  show  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts,  especially  during  the  last 
part  of  his  life.  But  a  few  must  suffice. 

"Some  weeks  ago,  as  I  was  sitting  by  his  bedside,  the  sunshine  streaming 
through  his  chamber  window,  he  said  to  me:  'How  beautiful  this  world  is!' 
and  then  repeated  the  lines: 

"  '  For  who,  to  dumb  forgetfulness  a  prey, 
This  pleasing,  anxious  being  e'er  resigned, 
Left  the  warm  precincts  of  the  cheerful  day, 
Nor  cast  one  longing,  lingering  look  behind.' 

"  And  then,  as  though  his  ear  so  attuned  to  the  melody  of  verse,  took  a 
delight  in  the  beautiful  alliteration,  or,  perhaps,  as  looking  forward  him- 
self, he  repeated,  dwelling  on  the  words, 

"  '  One  longing,  lingering  look  behind.' 

"We  who  are  here  all  know  his  deep  and  almost  passionate  love  of 
flowers,  and  how,  through  the  devotion  of  his  friends,  he  was  constantly 
surrounded  by  them,  his  room  being  often  a  very  bower  of  roses.  On 
Easter  Day,  three  weeks  ago,  when  I  made  my  usual  visit  to  him,  I  took 
him,  at  the  request  of  one  of  his  friends,  some  Easter  lilies,  and,  though 
flowers  in  abundance  were  all  about  his  room,  these  were  the  only  lilies  he 
had  then  received.  A  bright  smile  came  over  his  face  as  he  took  them, 
uttering  the  lovely  words : 

"  'Jfanibiis  date  lilla  plenis.' 

"For  many  years  Mr.  Wallis  was  accustomed  to  spend  some  hours  of 
every  day  with  Mr.  Pizarro,  a  Spanish  gentleman  of  intelligence  and  culti- 
vation, who  for  a  long  time  filled  the  position  of  Spanish  Consul  in  this 
city,  and  from  the  opportunities  thus  afforded  he  was  enabled  to  add  to  his 
knowledge  of  Spanish  literature  that  perfect  facility  in  speaking  the  lan- 
guage which,  as  has  been  said,  would  have  caused  any  Spaniard  to  believe 
that  the  purest  Castilian  was  his  native  tongue. 

"Through  Mr.  Pizarro,  too,  he  became  imbued  with  a  love  of  the  Vulgate 
translation  of  the  Bible,  and  often  the  melodious  and  sonorous  lines  of  this 
version  of  the  Psalms  fell  from  his  lips. 


xxvi  INTRODUCTION. 

"As  the  end  of  his  life  drew  near,  he  seemed  to  live  more  in  contempla- 
tion of  the  unseen. 

"There  is  an  instinctive  desire  to  know  how  a  man  of  such  high  intel- 
lectual endowments  regarded  the  issues  of  eternity  when  brought  face  to 
face  with  them. 

"To  such  a  question  his  own  vigorous  and  beautiful  lines  give  a  partial 
answer,  and  show  the  tenor  of  his  thoughts : 

"  '  I  would  not  that  the  dreams  of  old 

Should  veil  again  the  weakened  inind, 
Nor  mine  their  iaith  who  idly  hold 

That  to  be  wise  we  need  be  blind  ; 
But  when  I  see  how  darkly  lie 

The  plainest  things  before  mine  eyes, 
That  with  each  turn  of  reason's  wheel 

Falsehood  and  truth  both  upward  go, 
I  can  but  think  that  what  I  feel 

Is  best  and  most  of  what  I  know  ; 
And  that  where'er  our  tents  are  cast, 

Kach  hath  an  angel  by  his  side, 
From  the  first  life-sigh  to  the  last 

His  guardian,  champion,  friend  and  guide.' 

"  But  I  feel  that  here  I  must  speak  with  guarded  lips,  for  there  are  some 
utterances  too  sacred  to  be  imparted  or  shared.  And  yet  it  can  be  no  viola- 
tion of  rightful  reserve  to  say  that  almost  his  latest  words,  faintly  audible 
but  still  distinct,  as  the  shadows  closed  around  him,  words  which  we  may 
regard  as  the  '  exlremum  munus  morientis,'  were  these,  '  I  am  at  peace.' 

"lie  loved  righteousness  and  hated  iniquity.  Perfect  truthfulness  and 
stainless  integrity,  and  charity  of  hand  and  heart,  boundless  and  overflow- 
ing to  all,  these  were  the  traits  which  made  up  his  character,  and  they  are 
the  traits  of  the  servants  of  God. 

"  'Pri'.t'uma  in  consjiecta  Domini  inors  sanctorum  J\jus.'  " 


ADDRESSES. 


LEISURE; 


ITS  MORAL   AND   POLITICAL   ECONOMY. 


LEISURE. 


WE  have  all  read,  many  times,  and  there  are  few  of  us 
who  have  not  dropped  a  tear,  now  and  then,  over 
that  wonderful  and  painfully  suggestive  poem,  "  The  Song 
of  the  Shirt."  A  brother-humorist  of  Hood's,  whose  praise 
is  almost  fame,  has  said  of  it,  with  truthful  sympathy,  that, 
"  it  may  surely  rank  as  a  great  act  of  charity  to  the  world." 
You  remember,  of  course,  its  wild,  and  touching  burden — 

"  Work,  work,  work ! 
From  weary  chime  to  chime ; 
Work,  work,  work ! 
As  prisoners  work  for  crime." 

And  yet,  how  few  there  are  who  pause  to  fathom  all  the 
depths  of  the  story  which  it  tells !  Our  hearts  are  wrung, 
and  our  eyes  fill,  as  we  gaze  upon  the  single  picture  which 
it  paints,  of  toil  and  hopeless  and  forsaken  wretchedness ;  and 
we  forget  that  the  woman  who 

"Sits  in  unwomanly  rags, 
Plying  her  needle  and  thread — " 

is  only  the  melancholy  extreme,  and  unhappy  but  legitimate 
consummation,  of  a  social  and  political  philosophy  which 
throws  its  universal  shadow  over  the  most  prosperous  devel- 

5 


6  LEISURE. 

opments  of  modern  civilization.  We  lose  sight,  in  our  pity, 
of  the  fact  that  "  work,  work,  work  ! "  is  the  great  moral 
and  maxim  of  the  age  in  which  we  live — going  home,  it  is 
true,  with  cruellest  severity,  to  the  comfortless  dwellings  of 
humble  and  ill-paid  toil,  but  laying  its  iron  hand,  neverthe- 
less, upon  the  lives  and  the  destinies  of  almost  all  classes 
of  society.  Is  it  not  the  theme  of  the  books  that  men  write 
for  all  of  us,  and  of  the  teachings  that  are  vouchsafed  to  us, 
for  the  practical  guidance  of  life,  at  the  domestic  fireside, 
from  the  professor's  chair  and  the  chambers  of  legislation  ? 
There  is  no  ditty  of  our  childhood  which  rings  a  more  familiar 
jingle  in  our  ears,  than  that  which  warned  us,  amid  our  play- 
things, how 

"Satan  finds  some  mischief  still 

For  idle  hands  to  do ! " 

Can  we  not  all  remember  the  traditionary  wisdom  of  "  Poor 
Richard's  Almanac" — that  precious  volume  of  uninspired 
proverbs — whence  we  learned  in  our  maturer  boyhood,  that 
money-getting  was  a  secular  religion — rather  more  important 
than  the  other,  if  anything — and  were  taught,  by  a  sort  of 
parody  on  the  warnings  of  Scripture,  that  we  should  "  work 
while  it  is  called  to-day,  for  we  know  not  how  much  we 
may  be  hindered  to-morrow?"  Have  we  not  pored  over  our 
treatises,  more  or  less  profound,  and  listened,  more  or  less 
profitably,  to  our  lectures  upon  Political  Economy,  to  the 
edifying  and  elevating  effect,  that  the  great  social  end  of  man, 
and  the  only  true  policy  of  nations,  is  to  produce  as  much  as 
possible  and  consume  as  little — to  get  as  much  as  we  can  for 
what  we  sell  and  pay  as  little  as  possible  for  what  we  buy — 
to  starve  our  neighbor,  in  other  words,  and  eat  his  substance 


LEISURE.  7 

ourselves?  Surely,  after  having  thus  ennobled  selfishness  into 
a  science,  it  is  simply  sentimeutalism  in  us  to  grieve,  with 
gentle-hearted  Hood, 

"  That  bread  should  be  so  dear, 
And  flesh  and  blood  so  cheap!" 

We  should  rather  cry  Glory  to  Adam  Smith  !  and  lose  sight 
of  the  misery  of  mere  men  and  women,  in  the  progress  and 
wealth  of  the  nations. 

One  of  the  most  popular  and  striking  writers  of  the  day, 
Mr.  Carlyle — certainly  a  man  of  genius,  though  he  has  written 
a  great  deal  which  might  not  seem  so  novel  or  profound,  I 
think,  if  it  were  done  out  of  German  into  English — seems  to 
have  established,  as  the  basis  of  his  moral  and  philosophical 
system,  that  our  purpose  in  this  world  is  to  do  something ;  and 
that  provided  we  are  always  doing,  and  in  earnest,  it  makes 
no  great  matter  what  we  do.  The  somewhat  incongruous 
deductions  which  he  draws  from  this  fundamental  idea,  he 
calls  the  "  Evangel,"  and  sometimes  the  "  Gospel,  of  Labor  " ; 
and  it  is  this  blessed  message  to  humanity  which,  for  the  most 
part,  he  goes  about  proclaiming.  I  wonder  it  should  never 
have  occurred  to  so  clever  and  acute  a  man,  that  such  a 
"  Gospel," — if  it  means  anything  but  words — is  but  a  message 
to  our  race  of  the  primeval  curse  of  the  Old  Dispensation, 
unrelieved  and  unredeemed  by  any  of  the  charities  or  cove- 
nants of  the  New.  I  know  no  parallel  to  it,  in  point  of 
consolation,  except  the  discourse  of  the  ranting  preacher  to 
the  gipsy,  in  one  of  Hood's  novels  : — "  Woman,"  cried  he, 
"  behold,  I  bring  you  glad  tidings  !  You  are  an  accursed 
race  ! "  I  do  not  marvel  that  in  pursuing  such  a  system  to  its 


8  LEISURE. 

legitimate  conclusions,  Mr.  Carlyle  should  have  blended  in 
one  picture,  as  heroes,  the  Founder  of  Christianity  and  the 
Prophet  of  Mecca. 

But  the  economists  and  moral  philosophers  of  our  generation 
have  not  the  "  Evangel  of  Labor "  altogether  to  themselves. 
The  poets  have  been  far  too  wise  to  allow  the  mere  dealers  in 
prose  to  monopolize  so  much  available  capital ;  and  the  most 
of  the  songs  that  are  sung  to  us,  now,  have  a  perpetual  refrain 
of  "  work,  work,  work  " — very  elevated  and  grand,  and  occa- 
sionally unintelligible,  of  course,  as  sublime  things  ought  to 
be — but  still  "  work  ! "  It  has  been  ascertained,  beyond  a 
doubt,  as  you  are  aware,  that  every  human  being  has  what  is 
called  a  "mission;"  and  the  result  of  the  most  profound  and 
recent  poetical  investigation  seems  to  be,  that  our  "  mission  " 
is  "  work."  There  are  shrewd  suspicions  afloat,  it  must  be 
admitted,  that  mankind  received  some  hints,  and  not  of  a 
congratulatory  character,  either,  concerning  this  destiny  of 
theirs,  as  far  back  as  the  times  of  "the  gardener  Adam  and 
his  wife"  ;  but  still  the  poets  of  the  day  insist  on  singing  it, 
not  merely  as  a  truth,  but  as  an  attractive  novelty.  Mr. 
Tennyson,  for  instance,  is  full  of  it.  Addressing  himself  to 
the  world  at  large,  he  has  no  title  more  endearing  than 

"Men  my  brothers — men  the  workers!" 

Of  course,  all  the  Tennysonians — and  they  are  the  great 
majority  of  bards — though  they  toil  not,  neither  do  they  spin, 
in  their  peculiar  vocation,  but  steal  from  the  laureate,  out- 
right— are  yet  fuller  of  the  toilsome  mission  of  humanity 
than  even  their  great  prototype.  Our  own  countryman,  Mr. 
Longfellow,  from  whose  delightful  genius  we  might  expect 


LEISURE.  9 

something  better  and  more  original,  has  established  for  him- 
self a  perfect  speciality  in  the  regard  of  which  I  speak;  and 
one  would  think,  from  the  burden  of  his  music,  that  the 
destiny  of  mankind  is  chiefly  to  do  two  things — "to  labor 
and  to  wait,"  and  "  suffer  and  be  strong  " — a  heroic  destiny, 
to  be  sure,  and  well  adapted  to  versification,  but  nevertheless 
not  altogether  refreshing  in  an  experimental  point  of  view. 

While  moralists  and  political  economists  thus  combine  to 
teach,  and  poets  to  sing,  the  sanctity  of  work,  it  would  be 
quite  unreasonable  to  expect  that  those  who  are  called  the 
"  practical  men  "  of  the  day  should  lag  behind.  I  dare  say 
you  have  all  heard  and  read  many  discourses,  in  your  time, 
concerning  the  dignity  and  nobility  of  labor.  I  myself  have 
had  the  benefit  of  a  great  many ;  but  I  confess  that  the  feeling 
which  they  have  generally  awakened,  has  been  that  of  very 
profound  disgust.  The  most  of  us  understand,  I  am  sure, 
from  our  own  experience,  the  very  unpleasant  though  indis- 
pensable relation  between  the  sweat  of  our  brows  and  our 
daily  bread.  Upon  that  point,  we  certainly  need  no  prompt- 
ing ;  but  to  go  beyond  that — to  collect  a  crowd  of  weary  and 
toil-worn  men  together,  and  talk  to  them  about  the  elevation 
and  grandeur  of  the  burden  which  weighs  them  daily  to  the 
ground — "  no  blessed  leisure  for  love  or  hope  " — is  to  pass,  in 
my  poor  judgment,  into  the  region  of  unmitigated  cant  and 
twaddle.  No  man,  I  believe,  who  is  chained  by  necessity, 
along  with  the  rest  of  the  galley-slaves  of  this  earth,  to  his 
toiling  oar,  can  acquire  from  his  own  experience,  unless  he  be 
strangely  constituted,  or  from  his  observation  of  other  people, 
any  very  lofty  idea  of  the  dignity  of  labor  in  itself.  Respect- 
ing, for  one,  as  far  as  respect  can  go,  the  manhood  which 
2 


10  LEISURE. 

treads  the  path  of  toil,  however  humble,  to  honorable  inde- 
pendence— admiring,  with  heartiest  admiration,  the  vigor  and 
the  constancy  which  hold  men,  through  difficulty,  sacrifice  and 
pain,  unswervingly  close  to  the  duties  and  responsibilities  of 
social  and  domestic  life — I  still  can  but  regard  the  absorbing 
labor  which  makes  the  sum  total  of  most  men's  existence,  as 
one  vast  pool  of  Lethe,  into  which  high  faculties  and  generous 
feelings,  joyous  susceptibilities  and  graceful  tastes,  noble  and 
gentle  aspirations  and  priceless  hours,  go  down,  and  are 
drowned  out  of  hope  and  memory  forever  !  I  make  no  exclu- 
sion of  any  calling  whatever,  in  this  respect.  I  mean  none. 
One  may  be  more  intellectual  than  another.  One  may  give 
play  to  higher  faculties  than  another.  One  may  develop  more 
of  the  purer  and  better  nature  than  another.  But  I  mean  to 
say,  that  the  tendency  of  any  exclusive  calling  or  profession 
which  a  man  pursues  for  his  bread,  or  for  money,  after  he  has 
bread  enough — an  occupation  in  which  he  merges  himself  and 
his  thoughts — which  dawns  on  him  with  the  morrow's  day- 
light, as  it  folded  its  raven  wings  above  him,  when  he  sank 
to  his  needful  rest — is  a  plague  and  a  scourge  to  him — his 
descended  share  of  the  hereditary  blight  of  his  race — bear  it 
with  what  resignation  and  cheerfulness  he  may.  And  when  I 
hear  men  peddling  rhetoric  about  its  dignity  and  its  nobility, 
I  am  lost  in  surprise  that  the  patience  of  the  world  should 
abide  such  infinite  imposition.  I  wonder  how  people  bear  to 
be  taught,  as  philosophy — as  the  economy  of  individual  and 
national  life — that  their  noblest  earthly  purpose  and  occupation 
is  to  toil  up  a  weary  hill,  from  which,  when  they  reach  the 
summit,  they  behold  nothing  but  a  descent,  perhaps  precipitous 
and  sudden,  on  the  other  side  !  And  yet  there  is  small  cause 


LEISURE.  11 

for  wonder  at  such  patience,  when  we  look  around  and  see 
and  feel  that  the  doctrines,  thus  promulgated  and  applauded, 
are  the  law  which  governs  you,  and  me,  and  all  of  us ;  and 
that  the  whole  mass  of  the  society  in  which  we  live,  and  the 
nation  of  which  we  are  citizens,  are  moving  onward  to  the 
quickstep  of  that  false  and  fatal  music.  Who  that  is  well 
thought  of,  or  desires  to  be,  can  afford  to  pause  in  the  mighty 
onward  movement  of  labor  and,  as  we  call  it,  progress  ?  Who 
is  allowed  to  stop  ?  A  man  who  will  not  mount  the  hurrying 
train,  is  left  behind,  in  despised  and  despairing  isolation.  He 
who  has  once  mounted,  let  him  grow  ever  so  weary  or  be  ever 
so  sated  with  travel  and  anxious  for  repose,  finds  no  resting 
point  at  which  to  leave  it,  and  cannot  leap  from  it  without 
peril  of  destruction.  Onward,  forward,  like  Mazeppa : 

"So  fast  they  fly — away — away — 
That  they  can  neither  sigh  nor  pray." 

Can  this  be  life  ?  the  life  of  men  and  nations  ?  the  intended 
orbit  of  a  world  which  rolled  into  existence  amid  the  songs 
of  the  morning  stars,  and  arched  over  whose  advancing 
pathway  is  the  beauty  of  the  bow  of  promise  ?  It  cannot  be. 
We  are  living  under  a  false  philosophy,  and  are  beguiled  by 
a  false  science  and  by  specious  but  empty  words.  The  theory 
of  our  social  progress,  in  its  relation  to  individuals,  is  a  mere 
delusion.  We  have  taken  fever  for  high  health,  a'nd  intoxi- 
cation for  happiness.  We  are  sacrificing  ourselves  to  our 
work.  We  are  bartering  life  for  the  appliances  of  living. 
"We  are  pulling  down  our  houses,"  as  has  been  said,  "to  build 
our  monuments."  We  have  begun,  socially  and  nationally,  to 
feel  the  consequences.  Can  we  not  tear  ourselves  awhile, 


12  LEISURE. 

from  this  unresting  idolatry  of  labor,  and  stand  still  to 
consider  its  effect  upon  ourselves,  the  human  creatures  who 
are  the  laborers  ? 

There  is  nothing  stranger,  in  the  multitude  of  human 
inconsistencies  and  contrasts,  than  the  difference  between  the 
ideal  of  life  which  men  form  to  themselves,  and  the  reality 
into  which  they  are  content  to  shape  their  actual  existence 
and  its  practical  ends  and  aims.  Every  one  who  looks  to 
the  future  at  all,  sees  before  him — when  he  enters  upon  his 
career,  be  it  high  or  humble — some  fancied  haven,  into 
which  he  prays  for  favorable  winds  to  carry  him,  and 
where  he  is  quite  resolved,  in  advance,  if  luck  serves  him, 
to  drop  his  anchor  and  furl  his  sails, — ploughing  the  troubled 
seas  no  more.  It  may  be  some  reasonable  competence  of 
fortune — some  moderate  and  attainable  gratification  of  ambi- 
tion— some  realization  of  a  definite  and  cherished  hope — but, 
still,  every  man  starts  life  with  it,  and  there  are  few  who 
would  not  be  more  than  satisfied  to  compromise  with  their 
destiny,  off-hand,  and  treat  the  laborious  purposes  of  existence 
as  answered,  could  they  lay  their  hands  upon  the  prize  at 
once,  without  the  dust  and  the  toil,  the  rivalry  and  strife  of 
the  race.  Some  restless  and  troubled  spirits,  of  course,  there 
are,  to  whom  the  struggle  of  the  arena  is  worth  more  than 
the  crown  of  the  victor ;  but  there  are  few  who  commence 
life  with  such  feelings.  It  is  the  strife  itself,  for  the  most 
part,  which  kindles  the  hot  blood.  It  is  the  continued 
debauch,  which  creates  the  growing  and  insatiable  thirst — 
the  excitement,  which  makes  excitement  itself  its  own  reward. 
Nor  is  it  merely  in  laying  out  the  map  of  our  own  lives, 
that  we  fix  upon  some  green  and  pleasant  spot  where  we 


LEISURE.  13 

would  sit  down  and  enjoy  the  shade.  Not  a  novel — not  a 
comedy — will  win  a  reader  or  an  audience  twice,  unless  it 
gathers,  at  the  end,  all  the  good  people  with  whose  perplexi- 
ties it  has  delighted  us,  under  those  vines  and  fig  trees  which 
grow  to  such  luxuriance  nowhere,  as  in  the  sunshine  of  fiction 
or  the  glow  of  the  foot-lights.  And,  recollecting  this,  how 
odd  it  is,  that  when  men  come  to  work  out,  with  their  own 
hands,  the  problem  of  their  destiny,  there  should  be  so  few 
before  whom  the  goal  of  their  youth's  aspirations  and  hopes 
does  not  recede,  as  the  horizon — so  few,  who  are  willing  to 
say  to  themselves,  "  We  have  travelled  as  far  as  we  need ; 
let  us  pitch  our  tents  and  be  glad  ! "  I  speak  not,  of  course, 
of  those — unhappily  too  many — to  whom  life  is  of  necessity 
a  perpetual  struggle,  and  who  must  fight  its  battles  or  sleep 
on  the  battle-field.  I  speak  of  those  who  have  won  a  vic- 
tory, or  have  compelled  a  truce,  or  have  met  no  enemy — 
those  on  whom  the  gods  have  smiled.  How  few  of  such 
are  willing  to  surrender  themselves  to  the  repose  which  is 
the  reward,  and,  one  would  think,  should  be  the  object  of 
the  struggle !  Doubtless,  the  phenomenon,  strange  as  it 
is,  has  its  place  in  the  economy  of  Providence.  Quaint, 
pious  and  pedautical  George  Herbert  has  his  solution  of 
the  mystery.  The  blessing  of  repose,  he  tells  us,  was  the 
only  gift  withheld  from  man  by  his  Creator,  when  He  gave 
to  him  all  good  things  else : 

"Let  him  keep  the  rest" — He  said — 
"  But  keep  them  with  repining  restlessnesse : 
Let  him  be  rich  and  wearie,  that  at  least, 
If  goodnesse  leade  him  not,  yet  wearinesse 
May  tosse  him  to  my  breast." 


14  LEISURE, 

It  is,  of  course,  not  my  business  or  purpose  to  deal  with 
the  question  in  this  point  of  view. 

A  wise  and  true  philosopher — one  of  the  most  able  and 
enlightened  thinkers  and  writers  of  the  century,  M.  De  Sis- 
mondi,  has  left,  among  his  various  and  admirable  works, 
some  most  attractive  essays  upon  Political  Economy.  When 
I  say  they  are  attractive,  it  will  be  readily  understood  that 
they  do  not  belong  to  the  Adam  Smith  school,  which,  per- 
haps, accounts  for  their  not  having  been  translated,  except 
partially,  into  our  language.  This  is  to  be  regretted,  cer- 
tainly, as  there  are  none  who  need  the  lessons  which  they 
teach,  one-half  so  much  as  those  who  speak  the  English 
tongue.  I  know  no  writings  which  develop,  with  anything 
like  the  simplicity,  wisdom  and  beauty  of  these  essays,  the 
rational  philosophy  of  what  Political  Economy  should  be,  if 
it  aspires  to  rise  above  the  level  of  a  merely  abstract  science. 
The  fundamental  principle  upon  which  they  rest  is  this — that 
the  human  creatures  who  are  assembled  in  society  are,  all 
alike,  the  objects,  and  the  true  and  only  objects,  of  any 
economical  science  which  deserves  the  name ;  that  Political 
Economy,  in  the  ordinary  acceptation  of  the  term,  is  but  the 
science  of  accumulating  wealth  ;  while  Political  Economy,  as 
it  should  be,  is  the  science  of  so  accumulating  and  distributing 
it,  as  best  to  promote  the  happiness  and  comfort  of  the  men 
and  women  who  produce  it.  The  one  is  a  system  as  abstract 
as  the  mathematics — the  other  is  the  philosophy  of  individual 
and  social  happiness.  The  one  deals  with  the  producer  as  a 
machine,  or  as  a  unit  in  a  calculation.  The  other  regards 
him  as  a  creature  of  flesh  and  blood — of  hopes,  desir.es  and 
capabilities — to  whom  there  is  a  future  as  well  as  a  present — 


LEISURE.  15 

for  whose  enjoyment  and  development  society  was  instituted. 
The  object  of  the  one  is  to  cheapen  the  market — the  object  of 
the  other  is  to  economize  human  suffering  and  toil. 

And  it  was  no  superficial  intelligence,  no  wild  and  dreamy 
sentirnentalisru,  by  which  this  nobler  theory  of  economical 
science  was  built  up.  Its  author  was,  in  his  practical  politics, 
a  conservative  liberal ;  in  his  theories,  a  philosophical  repub- 
lican. He  had  no  leaning  to  socialistic  vagaries — no  hunger 
or  thirst  after  novelties.  Surpassed  by  no  man  of  his  genera- 
tion, in  the  depth  and  comprehensiveness  of  his  historical 
researches  and  knowledge,  he  has  this  peculiarity,  in  the  essays 
to  which  I  refer — that  instead  of  reasoning  from  abstract 
principles  to  abstract  conclusions,  and  dealing  with  men  like 
the  quantities  in  an  algebraic  equation,  he  rests  every  step 
of  his  logic  on  some  recorded  experience  of  mankind,  and 
illustrates  the  fallacy  of  every  error  which  he  assails,  by  some 
historical  development  of  its  consequences.  What,  therefore, 
in  the  hands  of  other  men,  is  but  a  barren  theory  of  balancing 
and  compensating  or  conflicting  laws,  is  with  him  the  science 
of  practical  humanity — of  grand,  and  true  and  systematized 
philanthropy.  In  such  a  connexion,  statistical  details,  and 
the  phenomena  of  acquisition  and  production,  are  ennobled  by 
their  direct  and  beneficent  relation  to  human  development. 
Political  Economy  rises  from  the  field  of  toil  to  the  laborers 
who  plough  its  furrows  and  reap  its  harvests — from  things 
material  to  higher  things — from  territorial  and  commercial 
wealth,  to  the  ease,  improvement  and  enjoyment  of  the  millions 
who  dig  its  mines.  So  regarded,  it  enters  into  the  wide  range 
of  human  relations — of  men  as  between  themselves — of  the 
rich  to  the  rich,  the  poor  to  the  poor,  and  the  rich  and  the 


16  LEISURE. 

poor  to  each  other.  It  goes  into  men's  houses,  like  a  blessed 
charity,  to  kindle  their  hearth-fires  and  feed  and  clothe  their 
children.  It  sweetens  toil  and  nurses  weakness.  It  comforts 
destitution,  and  has  the  oil  and  the  wine  of  the  Samaritan  for 
the  wayfarer  whom  the  Scotch  philosophers  would  leave  to 
be  stripped  of  his  raiment,  according  to  rule,  by  the  thieves 
among  whom  he  falls.  It  thus  becomes,  not  a  science  merely, 
but  a  living,  loving,  human  thing.  And  more  especially — and 
in  this  it  comes  within  the  range  of  our  discussion  to-night — 
does  it  investigate  the  relation  of  man  to  his  allotted  labor — 
not  as  enquiring  of  how  much  labor  each  man  may  be  capable, 
so  as  to  swell  an  aggregate  result  for  the  community  at  large ; 
but  as  determining  the  extent  of  the  labor  which  it  is  necessary 
for  each  man  to  undergo,  so  as  to  provide  for  his  wants  and 
the  fulfilment  of  his  duties  and  responsibilities,  and  yet  leave 
him  something  of  time,  and  its  precious  and  manifold  uses, 
to  himself. 

Humanly  speaking,  and  outside  of  those  duties  to  others, 
which  are  the  noblest  part  of  every  man's  career  and  its  obli- 
gations, E  suppose  I  may  assume  that  the  man  himself,  his 
own  development  and  his  happiness,  are  the  real  objects  of  life. 
I  may  assume  that  we  are  sent  into  this  world  to  enjoy  our- 
selves— rationally,  intellectually,  virtuously,  and  as  responsible 
beings,  of  course — but  still  to  enjoy  ourselves.  In  view  of  the 
glorious  faculties,  the  keen  and  exquisite  and  countless  sensi- 
bilities and  susceptibilities,  which  bless  our  nature  and  would 
but  torment  if  were  they  given  us  for  nought,  it  would  be 
sheer  impiety  to  doubt  the  beneficent  purpose  for  which  they 
are  bestowed.  If  such  then  be  the  truth,  it  is  plain  logic, 
that  wo  waste  our  being,  in  proportion  as  we  Ming  the  oppor- 


LEISURE.  17 

tunities  for  enjoying  it  away.  And  yet  to  most  of  us — not 
always  from  inclination,  nor  from  perversity  of  our  own,  but 
from  the  very  necessity  of  the  system, — the  social  organization 
and  habits  which  fetter  us — what  is  the  journey  of  life,  but 
a  race  of  steam  and  horse-power,  care,  haste,  fatigue  and  dust  ? 
As  Longfellow  translates  from  old  Manrique — 

"  Our  cradle  is  the  starting  place — 
Of  life  we  run  the  onward  race, 
And  reach  the  goal." 

Jockeyed  and  jockeying,  we  make  it  but  a  breathless  trial  of 
mere  speed.  Our  thought  is  of  onward  motion ;  and  the  com- 
pendium of  our  life-system,  for  the  most  part,  is,  that  we 
get  over  the  ground  and  then — into  it. 

Let  us  prosecute,  a  little  further,  an  inquiry  which  I 
started  a  moment  ago.  How  many  men  do  we  know,  each 
of  us,  who  are  willing,  with  moderate  fortunes,  to  rest  on 
them — to  give  up  or  turn  aside  from  their  trades  or  their 
professions — in  order  to  cultivate  their  minds,  to  improve 
and  elevate  their  tastes,  to  form  themselves  for  the  duties  of 
that  essential,  but  almost  non-existent  class  among  us — the 
men  of  intelligence  and  cultivated  leisure?  We  have  high 
authority  for  saying  that  "  Wisdom  .  .  .  cometh  by  oppor- 
tunity of  leisure,  and  he  that  hath  little  business  shall  become 
wise."  How  many  do  we  know,  any  of  us,  who,  in  the 
maturity  of  their  faculties,  are  willing — we  will  not  say  to 
desert  their  career,  but  to  pause  in  it  merely — nay,  even  to 
slacken  their  pace,  so  that  they  may  gather  the  fruit  from 
the  trees  under  which  they  pass — that  they  may  have  the 
opportunity  of  wisdom,  of  which  the  good  man  speaks? 
3 


18  LEISURE, 

How  many  will  say — cheerfully,  or  at  all — "the  labor  of 
half  the  day  suffices,  I  will  devote  the  other  half  to  myself!" 
Few,  sadly  few  !  I  grant  you,  that  in  the  latter  case  the 
thing  is  not  so  easy,  even  where  a  man  may  have  the  will. 
We  cannot  remain  part  of  a  system  and  yet  detach  ourselves 
from  it.  If  we  are  in  the  current,  we  cannot  linger  in  the 
eddies.  We  must  move  on,  or  be  left  behind  altogether. 
For  this,  the  system  is,  in  the  main,  responsible.  But  the 
other  thing — the  retirement  of  those  who  can  afford  to  break 
off  from  a  system  which  coerces  them — ought  not  to  be  diffi- 
cult, and  is  not,  where  the  will  exists.  It  is  a  matter  of 
every  day  occurrence,  in  other  countries — certainly  on  the 
continent  of  Europe.  Men  wind  up  their  affairs,  invest  their 
money,  accommodate  their  expenses  to  their  means,  and  sit- 
down  to  be  happy,  while  there  is  yet  enough  of  the  vigor  of 
life  left  to  make  enjoyment  healthy  and  robust — while  there  is 
enough  of  taste,  appreciation  and  thought  remaining,  to  be  cul- 
tivated and  developed — to  be  made  useful  as  well  as  graceful. 
What  an  outburst  of  joyous  freedom — what  a  dance  upon 
broken  manacles  and  chains  sundered  forever — what  a  hymn  of 
gratitude  and  deliverance — is  that  inimitable  essay  of  Charles 
Lamb's — "The  Superannuated  Man" — wherein  he  tells  the 
story  of  a  servitude  of  six-and-thirty  years  in  a  counting 
house,  brought  happily  to  an  end  !  How  he  dwells,  like  a 
liberated  prisoner,  on  the  toils  and  privations  of  his  prison- 
house — the  infrequent  holidays,  which  were  over  before  he 
could  determine  how  they  were  to  be  enjoyed — the  Sundays 
which  brought  no  relaxation — the  week  at  Easter,  which  was 
gone  before  its  leisure  was  tested — the  wood  of  his  desk, 
which  had  entered  into  his  soul !  And  then  the  tumultuous 


LEISURE.  19 

gladness  of  his  emancipation — the  time  that  first,  in  all  his  life, 
he  could  call  his  own — the  plans,  the  pleasures  and  the  inde- 
pendence, upon  a  pension  of  two-thirds  of  a  small  salary  ! — 
"  Had  I  a  little  son,"  he  exclaims,  in  the  rapture  of  his 
soul — "  I  would  christen  him  Nothing  to  Do.  He  should 
do  nothing."  I  am  afraid  that  even  in  England,  "  Nothing 
to  Do"  would  have  had  a  hard  time  of  it.  With  us,  I  am 
quite  sure  that  his  name  would  have  interfered  with  his 
getting  a  situation.  The  humorist  would  have  found  it  an 
unprofitable  business  to  speak  irreverently  of  the  Evangel 
of  Labor. 

What  is  the  course  under  our  system  and  with  our  ideas? 
Take  professional  men,  for  instance.  We  toil  on,  and  toil  on, 
almost  without  exception,  until  waning  mind  and  broken  body 
refuse  to  toil  longer.  We  preach  sermons — argue  causes — 
feel  pulses — spur  on  our  jaded  faculties  along  the  narrow 
pathway  of  our  traditional  and  artificial  meditations,  until  the 
spur  is  answered  no  more.  And  what  is  the  effect  of  this 
upon  ourselves  and  the  society  of  which  we  form  a  part? 
Every  man's  pursuit,  exclusively  followed,  draws  a  limited 
portion  of  humanity  within  the  circle  of  its  light,  leaving  all 
outside  unseen  and  uncomprehended.  We  see  what  we  look 
for,  in  this  world,  and  not  much  else.  Niagara  is  one  spectacle 
to  the  artist  or  the  poet,  another  to  the  geologist,  and  still 
another  to  the  man  with  a  water-mill.  The  physician  lives 
in  a  world  whose  occupants  are  patients;  and  the  human 
phenomena,  therefore,  which  he  chiefly  notices,  are  of  the  class 
called  symptoms.  To  the  lawyer,  humanity  takes  the  aspect, 
for  the  most  part,  of  wrong  attempted  or  resisted.  His  con- 
templations are  of  the  morbid  subject,  generally,  like  the 


20  LEISURE. 

physician's.  His  occupations  are  of  a  sort  which,  it  has  been 
wisely  said,  may  sharpen  the  edge,  but  are  sure  to  narrow  the 
blade,  of  the  mind.  So,  too,  the  clergyman,  in  his  turn,  is 
apt  to  look  at  the  world  to  which  he  ministers,  only  from  the 
point  of  view  of  the  transgressions  which  render  such  minis- 
tration needful.  It  is  to  him  exclusively  an  abiding-place  of 
sanctity  and  sin,  and  he  is  therefore  apt  to  see  more  of  both 
in  it,  than  perhaps  the  facts  will  always  justify.  Thus  it 
is  with  all  callings  by  which  men's  lives  and  faculties  are 
monopolized.  Mr.  Weller  only  exaggerated  slightly,  but  in 
a  perfectly  natural  direction,  when  he  represented  the  under- 
takers as  regarding  mortality  in  the  light  of  an  institution 
intended  for  their  benefit. 

The  subject  bears  further  illustration.  What  a  solemn 
speech  is  that  jeering  one  of  Hamlet's,  when  he  sees  the 
grave-digger  knocking  the  "  sconce "  of  his  imaginary  law- 
yer about  with  his  "  dirty  shovel,"  and  the  learned  man 
"will  not  tell  him  of  his  action  of  battery!"  What  a 
comment  is  the  whole  of  it  upon  a  life  which  has  gone 
on  in  the  exclusive  pursuit  of  an  engrossing,  artificial  and 
restricted  line  of  thought — from  which,  in  spite  of  us,  the 
narrowing  and  hardening  processes  of  professional  education 
and  exercise  have  shut  out  art  and  literature — putting  the 
extinguisher  upon  poetry  and  fancy — making  social  enjoy- 
ment a  hasty  and  exceptional  pleasure — and  all  the  more,  in 
proportion  to  the  success  and  reputation  which  have  seemed 
to  reward  the  struggle  !  How  the  nature  becomes  subdued, 
upon  the  one  side, 

"  To  what  it  works  in — like  the  dyer's  hand." 


LEISURE.  21 

How  false  and  partial  and  unhappy  are  the  views  which  it 
adopts,  upon  the  other,  of  human  life  and  character  !  "It 
seems  to  you,"  said  Sydney  Smith,  addressing  a  congregation 
of  lawyers,  "  as  if  men  were  bound  together  by  the  relations 
of  fraud  and  crime.  Laws  were  not  made  for  the  quiet,  the 
good  and  the  just.  You  see  and  know  little  of  them  in  your 
profession,  and  therefore  you  forget  them.  .  .  .  The  lawyer 
who  tempted  his  Master,  had  heard  of  the  sins  of  the  woman 
at  the  feast,  without  knowing  that  she  had  poured  her  store 
of  precious  ointment  on  the  feet  of  Jesus." 

Take,  now,  the  career  of  a  successful  physician — one  who 
pursues  that  profession  as  an  active  calling — who  surrenders 
his  days  and  his  nights  to  it,  from  youth  to  age — who  fore- 
goes social  pleasures  and  the  half  of  his  domestic  joys  for 
it — who  sees  his  children  grow  up,  without  that  personal, 
parental  contact  which,  more  than  all  things  else,  is  needful 
to  form  the  young  to  usefulness  and  honor.  What  do  you 
make  of  such  a  man — love  and  admire  him  as  much  as  you 
may  !  He  has  discharged  one  class  of  duties,  it  is  true.  He 
has  done  much  good,  beyond  a  doubt.  He  has  been  useful 
in  his  generation,  in  the  main,  as  an  engineer  of  the  human 
machine.  But  how  has  he  discharged  that  trust,  of  all 
others  the  most  imperative — the  trust  of  his  own  gifts  and 
faculties — the  great  trust  of  himself?  He  has  given  physic 
to  society,  as  the  mere  lawyer  has  given  it  counsel.  Has 
either  of  them  given  to  it  the  broadly  cultivated  powers — the 
matured  and  ample  intellect — the  tastes  and  the  time — which 
belong  to  it,  and  to  which  it  has  a  right,  from  every  man, 
according  to  his  endowments  and  his  opportunities?  They 
have  conferred  upon  the  Republic  a  doctor  and  a  lawyer, 


22  LEISURE. 

instead  of  a  man  and  a  citizen.  The}7  have  sacrificed  to  the 
thirst  of  gain,  or  the  excitement  of  rivalry  and  a  second-rate 
ambition,  or  the  worship  of  a  dominant  idea,  what  they  owed 
to  society  and  themselves ;  or  they  have,  themselves,  been 
sacrificed  by  the  vicious  organization,  the  false  principles, 
the  insatiable  exigencies  of  society.  The  higher  their  abili- 
ties and  the  purer  and  more  conscientious  their  purposes  and 
labors,  the  more  perilous  their  exposure  to  the  relentless 
demands  of  a  system  which  drags  into  its  vortex,  first, 
whatever  is  best  and  noblest  in  intellect  and  heart. 

Contemplate,  again,  a  merchant — one  who  has  surrendered 
himself  from  his  early  years  to  the  pursuit  of  gain,  or,  if 
you  please,  to  the  less  sordid  but  equally  engrossing  excite- 
ment which  that  pursuit  engenders  and  feeds.  What  does 
he  come  to  be,  under  our  system  ?  How  does  his  occupation 
mould  and  develop  him  ?  If  he  is  lucky  and  prudent,  nay, 
perhaps,  if  he  is  either,  he  grows  rich.  We  will  assume  that 
he  does.  He  acquires  power  and  influence,  gains  deference 
and  respect — which  money  generally  commands  for  all  practi- 
cal purposes,  and  especially  among  a  commercial  people.  But 
what  manner  of  man  does  he  make  of  himself?  Do  you  find 
him  balancing  his  accounts,  closing  his  books,  retiring,  even 
partially,  from  the  busy  scenes  of  excitement  and  acquisition, 
to  bestow  any  portion  of  his  yet  vigorous  years  upon  private 
life,  upon  social  refinement  and  enjoyment,  upon  artistic  tastes, 
or  literary  pleasures,  or  humanizing  occupations — the  thousand 
things  that  make  men  wiser  and  better,  and  civilize  and  enno- 
ble nations?  How  unwillingly  the  hand  gives  up  the  ledger, 
even  when  it  grows  too  weak  to  turn  over  the  leaves?  I 
know  some  examples — a  few — and  no  one  respects  and  honors 


LEISURE.  23 

them  more  than  I  do — of  men  who,  from  conviction,  have 
withdrawn  themselves  from  the  active  pursuit  of  trade,  while 
full  of  life,  capacity,  energy  and  prospect — content  to  garner 
the  grain  which  they  had  gathered,  though  the  harvest  was 
not  yet  half  cut.  But  the  cases  of  such  genuine  manhood, 
such  high  moral  independence,  such  appreciation  of  life  and 
its  true  purposes,  are  painfully  rare.  You  may  find  men 
enough,  who  desert  the  legitimate  paths  of  commerce,  to  enter 
upon  the  more  concentrated  trade  in  money.  You  can  lay 
your  hands  on  merchants  enough,  who  will  give  up  the 
counting-room  and  the  warehouse  for  the  office — who  will 
leave  what  is  really  generous  and  attractive  in  commerce — its 
large  adventures,  its  liberal  and  manly  competition — its  broad 
calculations — its  study  of  daily  events  and  political  mutations 
— the  contemplation  of  national  wants  and  foreign  customs — 
of  trade  and  its  laws — agriculture  and  its  vicissitudes — the 
changing  seasons — the  capricious  winds,  and  the  sea's  perils. 
All  these  things,  which  are  within  the  scope  of  commerce, 
when  it  is  really  a  profession — you  will  find  men  enough  to 
surrender.  They  will  retire  from  these,  into  the  narrower 
sphere  of  what  they  call  employing  capital — in  other  words, 
dealing  in  money  or  its  representatives.  Like  stout  Cortes — 
but  with  a  far  less  manly  purpose — they  will  sink  their  ships 
and  then  build  brigantines.  And  what  comes  of  such  changes  ? 
Is  it  leisure — with  its  graces,  accomplishments  and  usefulness 
to  others  ?  Not  a  whit.  They  have  laid  no  foundation  for 
such  things,  and  have  no  taste  or  fitness  for  them  when  their 
season  arrives.  Is  it  social  expansion — broad  views — public 
spirit — great  enterprise — noble  example?  Not  at  all — but 
increasing  wealth — time  devoted  more  passionately  and  exclu- 


24  LEISURE. 

sively  than  ever,  to  its  augmentation — busy  intrigue,  instead 
of  generous  rivalry — hungry  appetite,  instead  of  liberal  large- 
ness of  soul.  And  this  is  what  dooms  communities  to  petty 
destinies :  the  fact  that  the  machinery  of  large  enterprise  is 
worked  by  small  hands,  and  directed  by  small  capacities,  for 
mean  and  narrow  ends — the  fact  that  the  pursuit  of  gain, 
for  its  own  sake  and  multiplication,  and  not  for  what  it 
brings  or  for  what  it  may  foster  or  bless,  is  the  exclusive 
moral  and  lesson  of  mercantile  life,  as  of  every  other  vigorous 
and  active  life  that  yearns  and  toils  about  us.  Is  such  a 
doom  irreversible,  T  pray  you?  Is  it  part  of  the  unchange- 
able nature  of  things?  Surely,  history  teaches  no  such  lesson 
of  despair.  Surely,  we  learn,  from  the  annals  of  our  race, 
that  it  is  not  merely  the  pursuit  of  gain  which  corrupts — it  is 
its  exclusive  pursuit.  It  is  only  the  surrender  of  life,  and 
heart,  and  hope  to  it,  that  transforms  wealth  from  a  blessing 
into  a  gilded  calamity  to  men  and  nations. 

In  the  Columbian  Library,  at  Seville,  I  saw  an  old  book  on 
Cosmography,  which  had  belonged  to  Christopher  Columbus. 
It  seemed  to  have  been  the  text-book  of  his  meditations,  so 
full  the  margins  were  of  notes  in  his  handwriting.  I  noticed 
that  he  had  not  failed  to  mark,  with  most  especial  care,  each 
passage  in  the  ancient  author,  which  told  of  spices,  or  of 
precious  stones  or  metals,  to  be  found  upon  the  hills  or  through 
the  valleys  of  the  Indies.  Indeed  he  had  condensed  such 
observations  on  some  pages;  and  mountains  all  of  gold,  and 
islands  strewn  with  pearls,  were  what  he  had  prefigured  as 
before  him  in  his  journey  towards  the  setting  sun.  And  yet, 
who  dims  the  glory  of  that  pure  and  lofty  soul  with  one 
suspicion  of  a  sordid  thought?  The  wealth  that  made  the 


LEISURE.  25 

Indies  precious,  was  but  the  embroidered  raiment  of  his 
dreams,  and  moved  him  none  the  more  to  grovelling  appetite, 
than  did  the  golden  fringes  of  the  clouds,  beneath  which, 
evening  after  evening,  he  sailed  into  the  darkness — Manhood 
and  Hope,  like  the  angels  in  the  legend,  standing  through  its 
watches  by  his  helm  ! 

So,  in  the  good  old  times,  when  merchants  were  princes, 
and  deserved  to  be,  the  increase  of  wealth  seemed  of  itself  to 
work  an  enlargement  of  men's  ideas.  There  was  a  perpetually 
expanding  purpose  in  its  pursuit — a  "  large  discourse,  looking 
before  and  after."  It  had  a  past,  on  which  it  built,  and  a 
future,  for  which  it  labored  grandly.  Commerce  was  not, 
then,  the  speculation  of  to-day,  or  the  hasty  adventure  of 
to-morrow — the  short  turn — the  sharp  bargain — the  keen- 
scented  thrift,  snuffing  news  in  advance  of  the  mail.  Glorious 
breezes  filled  its  sails.  The  "lovesick  winds"  that  wafted 
Cleopatra's  barge,  did  not  hover  round  more  gorgeous  canvas. 
Its  freight  was  art,  and  literature,  and  civilization.  The  sea- 
weed, clinging  now,  like  mourning  drapery,  along  the  marble 
walls  of  Venice,  does  but  assert  a  rightful  fellowship  with 
splendor  to  whose  triumphs  the  whole  known  sea  was  tribu- 
tary. The  pictures  and  the  statues — the  temples,  the  libraries, 
the  palaces  and  gardens  of  Genoa  and  Pisa — of  Florence, 
Bologna  and  Sienna — all  tell  the  story  of  great  thoughts  and 
noble  tastes,  which  gold  and  trade  may  nurture,  when  nobleness 
and  greatness  deal  with  them.  Judged  by  such  standards — 
making  all  allowances  for  change  of  time  and  circumstance — 
conceding  on  the  one  side  all  that  it  has  done  for  freedom  and 
intelligence — requiring  from  it,  on  the  other,  fulfilment  of  the 
obligations  since  imposed  on  it  by  all  the  grand  discoveries 
4 


26  LEISURE. 

which  science  and  genius  have  given  it  for  handmaids — trade, 
as  we  find  it  now,  is  surely,  in  its  spirit,  far  below  the  level 
of  the  high  and  intellectual  calling  which  made  itself  so 
bright  a  name  in  history.  I  speak  of  its  spirit  and  not  of  its 
material  progress — of  its  influence  on  the  men  who  pursue  it, 
and  not  of  its  statistics.  I  am  looking  at  the  hand  of  the 
dyer,  and  not  at  the  garish  colors  which  flaunt  from  his  door. 
The  Son  of  Sirach  has  said,  and  I  hope  I  may  venture  to  say 
it  after  him,  without  offence,  that  "  a  merchant  shall  hardly 
keep  himself  from  doing  wrong,  and  a  huckster  shall  not  be 
free  from  sin."  I  waive  the  question  as  to  whether  the 
Hebrews,  in  the  days  when  Ecclesiasticus  was  written,  fur- 
nished the  most  advantageous  models  of  mercantile  deport- 
ment ;  for  I  am  quite  persuaded  that  the  great  moralist  told  a 
truth  in  this,  which  was  intended  for  all  time.  And  if  it  be 
so  difficult  for  men,  in  the  legitimate  paths  of  commerce,  to 
avoid  its  corrupting  tendencies,  I  fear  they  hardly  can  improve 
their  chances  by  entering  the  still  narrower  walks  of  what 
commonly  is  known  as  mercantile  retirement.  Does  a  man 
widen  the  scope  of  his  faculties,  think  you,  or  improve  the 
opportunities  of  competence  or  leisure,  because  he  withdraws 
himself  from  actual  trade,  to  look  after  letting  his  money 
out  on  interest?  Does  he  enlarge  the  domain  of  his  heart, 
or  open  new  sources  of  human  sympathy,  by  watching  the 
fluctuations  of  the  stock  exchange  or  the  loan-market?  Does 
the  old  age  of  mercantile  industry  grow  in  dignity  or  reverence 
under  such  influences?  Docs  it  thus  heighten  its  claims  to 
sway  the  opinions,  and  rule  the  counsels,  and  fashion  the  tastes 
and  habits — nay,  form  the  very  destiny — of  this  magnificent 
Republic?  Has  it  not  rather  let  itself  out  on  usury,  with  its 


LEISURE.  27 

capital,  and  made  a  sordid  trade  of  its  faculties  and  opportuni- 
ties ?  There  may  be — undoubtedly  there  are — some  characters 
so  privileged,  that  they  can  walk  through  the  daily  temptations 
of  any  calling,  without  a  stain  on  their  raiment.  There  are, 
in  all  professions,  men  fortunately  constituted,  who  can  find 
leisure  in  the  midst  of  absorbing  employment,  and  expansion 
in  the  very  pressure  of  the  most  contracting  influences — to 
whom  literature  blossoms,  a  spontaneous  wayside  flower,  along 
every  path ;  and  art,  and  taste,  and  fancy,  and  graceful  and 
refining  thought  and  occupation,  come  smiling  and  ministering, 
like  a  reaper's  joyous  children  who  troop  around  him  in  the 
harvest  field.  So,  too,  in  the  least  liberal  pursuits  of  trade, 
are  men,  who  gather  and  are  generous — who  grasp  and  yet 
give — whose  hearts  grow  with  their  fortunes,  and  whose  intel- 
lects expand  with  their  experience — men  with  whom  labor 
seems  compatible  with  leisure,  and  whose  manly  nature  has 
the  ring  of  a  metal  purer  than  their  gold.  But  such  is  not 
the  common  experience  of  the  world ;  and  it  were  not  wise  to 
write  philosophy  altogether  for  the  Happy  Valley,  whose  soil 
is  the  salt  of  the  earth.  We  must  deal  with  the  rule — though 
we  be  thankful  for  the  exceptions. 

In  Holbein's  Dance  of  Death — that  marvellous  series  of 
grim  portraitures — is  painted  the  coming  of  the  fatal  mes- 
senger to  men  of  every  condition,  as  they  are.  He  arrests 
the  lawyer — an  ill-favored  varlet,  you  may  be  sure — and  drags 
him  away  (in  a  direction  happily  not  indicated),  just  as  he  is 
about  to  dispute  the  authority  of  the  summons,  and  is  pro- 
ducing the  precedents  to  the  contrary.  He  turns  back  the 
physician,  who,  with  the  cup  of  healing  in  his  hand,  is  hasten- 
ing to  stay  death's  own  career  elsewhere.  He  comes  behind 


28  LEISURE. 

the  merchant,  who  is  weighing  the  golden  proceeds  of  some 
venture,  and  flings  a  human  bone  into  the  opposing  scale. 
The  moral  of  these  strange  pictures  is  that  of  every-day 
experience  and  life.  It  goes  beyond  the  plain  one,  which  the 
vulgar  eye  sees  in  them.  It  is  the  folly — the  absurdity — the 
wantonness — of  dedicating  life,  and  all  of  hopes  and  enjoy- 
ments that  may  be  in  it,  to  one  absorbing,  sole  pursuit ;  the 
madness  of  wasting  existence  itself  in  the  search  after  super- 
fluous means  of  existence,  instead  of  dedicating  what  suffices, 
when  found,  to  the  rational  ends  of  our  being. 

It  is  of  course  impossible  that  all  the  baneful  influences  to 
which  we  have  alluded,  can  operate  upon  the  individuals 
who  compose  a  nation,  and  yet  fail  to  affect  the  national 
community  itself.  You  cannot  have  the  ocean  at  rest,  when 
every  separate  wave  in  it  is  tossed  as  by  a  tempest.  Thus 
there  is,  in  the  Republic  of  which  we  are  citizens,  the  same 
feverish  unrest  which  makes  the  citizens  themselves  build 
their  houses  of  life  upon  quicksands — the  same  unwilling- 
ness, perhaps  incapacity,  to  appreciate  and  quietly  enjoy  the 
blessings  that  are  round  about  it.  Of  our  actual  greatness 
and  future  glory — of  our  expanding  wealth,  and  territory 
and  resources — the  whole  air  is  vocal  with  the  tidings ;  but 
not  a  man,  of  those  whom  we  call  statesmen,  lifts  his  voice 
to  bid  us  pause  and  be  happy  in  what  we  have  :  if  we  are 
free,  to  enjoy  our  freedom ;  if  we  are  wise,  to  profit  by  our 
wisdom  ;  if  we  are  wealthy  and  powerful,  to  sit  down  in  the 
sunshine  of  our  wealth  and  power.  With  millions  upon 
millions  of  acres,  which  we  can  neither  cultivate  nor  enjoy, 
we  are  told  that  it  is  our  policy  to  go  searching  after  more. 
With  peace  and  plenty  laughing  at  our  doors,  we  are  made 


LEISURE.  29 

to  believe  that  we  should  welcome  war,  rather  than  not  have 
the  things  we  cannot  need,  which  are  far  away  from  us.  Has 
the  age  of  political  philosophers — of  practical  and  honest 
public  thinkers — died  out  altogether  with  us?  Is  there  no 
one  to  tell  us — with  the  voice  of  an  authority  which  we  will 
respect — that  the  true  grandeur  of  nations  is  to  be  found  in 
the  development  and  happiness  of  the  human  creatures  who 
live  under  their  institutions ;  their  true  power  in  the  virtue, 
independence  and  cultivation  of  their  citizens ;  their  own 
genuine  and  lofty  mission,  in  their  own  example?  For 
one,  I  had  rather  see  the  nation  under  whose  flag  I  was  born, 
compacted,  for  all  time,  within  the  limits  where  our  fathers 
left  it — with  friendly  and  admiring  nations  growing  up 
around  it,  enlightened  by  its  example  and  blessed  by  its 
vicinity — its  wealth  brought  home  to  be  enjoyed,  instead  of 
being  wasted  in  new  conquests,  or  the  search  after  something 
more — its  intellect  devoted  to  its  own  civilization,  instead  of 
being  maddened  by  crusading  enterprise  and  the  discord  of 
ambitious — I  had  rather  see  this,  than  witness,  as  its  destiny, 
the  most  magnificent  march  of  empire  that  ever  trod  human 
hearts  beneath  its  feet.  I  had  rather  see  what  already  is  our 
own,  made  to  blossom  with  the  arts  of  peace  and  beauty, 
than  to  hear  of  a  province  conquered,  daily,  for  pensions, 
pre-emption  rights,  and  land  warrants  !  I  should  hold  one 
fruitful,  joyous,  civilizing  and  refining  hour  of  national  repose, 
more  precious  than  the  most  prodigal  decade  of  national 
aggrandizement. 

There  is,  I  am  aware,  a  great  deal  of  rhetoric  on  the  other 
side  of  these  views — a  great  deal  of  very  obvious  declamation, 
about  ignoble  ease,  individual  sloth  and  national  stagnation. 


30  LEISURE. 

But  all  this  is  merely  a  begging  of  the  question  in  dispute. 
I  deny  that  a  life  of  repose — not  of  idleness,  but  of  leisure 
and  wholesome  rest — is  more  ignoble  or  more  unprofitable, 
in  man  or  nation,  than  the  throb  and  throe — the  convulsive 
preternatural  activity — of  labor,  without  enjoyment  and  with- 
out end.  I  do  not  mean  that  rest  which  is  typified  by  the 
Chinese  hieroglyphic  of  happiness — an  open  mouth  and  a 
handful  of  rice.  I  mean  the  repose  which  is  the  parent  of 
wise  activity,  and  the  restraint,  as  well  as  the  substitute,  of 
activity  which  is  not  wise.  I  mean  the  rest  which  is  won 
and  deserved  by  labor,  and  which  sweetens  and  invigorates 
it,  and  furnishes  its  reward.  Whence  comes  this  doctrine,  that 
life — to  be  anything — must  be  forever  in  motion  ?  There  is 
no  process  of  physical  development  which  does  not  need  and 
depend  upon  repose.  To  all  the  green  and  beautiful  things 
that  deck  the  earth — the  flowers  that  give  it  perfume,  and  the 
fruits  and  foliage  that  make  it  glad — there  are  needful  the  calm 
sunshine  and  the  peaceful  shade — the  gentle  rain  and  the  yet 
gentler  dew.  Not  a  gem  that  flashes,  but  has  been  crystal- 
lized in  the  immovable  stillness  of  the  great  earth's  breast ! 
It  is  impossible  to  look  on  the  most  wondrous  scenes  of 
physical  grandeur,  where  the  convulsions  of  nature  have 
left  their  traces  on  mountain  and  valley,  without  feeling 

•/   /  O 

that  the  quiet  centuries,  gliding  in  between,  have  woven 
the  tranquil  vesture  of  their  beauty.  I  know  no  difference 
from  this  in  the  laws  of  our  moral  and  intellectual  nature ; 
and  I  believe  that  to  be  false  philosophy  and  pernicious 
morality  which  denies  to  individuals,  as  it  is  misguided  and 
perverse  political  economy  which  takes  away  from  nations, 
their  seasons  of  leisure  and  meditation — teaching  them  that 


LEISURE.  31 

existence  was  meant  to  be  nothing  but  a  struggle,  and  that  it 
stagnates  and  is  worthless  when  its  strife  grows  still. 

But  it  is  to  be  feared  that  the  evils  which  we  are  considering 
are  not  so  much  the  result  of  vice  or  conviction,  as  of  instinct 
and  constitution.  They  seem  to  have  come  to  us  from  our 
Anglo-Saxon  progenitors,  and  are  perhaps  a  part  of  the 
penalty  which  we  have  to  pay  for  our  inherited  share  of  the 
restless  activity  and  predominance  of  the  race.  There  is  a 
charming  little  book  by  Emile  Souvestre,  well  known  in 
English  as  the  "  Attic  Philosopher,"  a  most  delightful,  genial 
picture  of  simple  pleasures  and  moderate  desires — of  humble 
but  serene  enjoyment,  and  homely  yet  blessed  charities  and 
consolations.  I  do  not,  however,  mention  the  volume  merely 
to  praise  it — though  it  deserves  all  praise  and  gratitude — but 
in  order  to  ask  you  whether  you  think  the  scenes  of  such  a 
volume  could  be  laid  in  any  part  of  this  vast  continent,  which 
toils  and  grows  prosperous  beneath  the  pressure  of  Anglo- 
Saxon  energy  and  institutions.  Can  we  conceive  such  a  book 
to  be  the  truthful  story  of  a  life  led  within  the  atmosphere 
of  any  great  city  of  our  confederation — a  life  of  contentment, 
in  the  pettiest  fortunes — reduced  to  the  first  and  actual  neces- 
sities, yet  happy,  contemplative,  useful,  independent,  respected 
and  self-respecting?  Surely  not.  Such  things  are  not  the 
growth  of  the  principles  under  which  we  live  and  move. 
They  could  never  be  developed  under  the  influence  of  a  social 
and  political  economy  which  inflames  one-half  the  intelligent 
manhood  of  our  country  with  the  hot  thirst  of  public  life — 
which  stigmatizes  every  man  as  a  drone,  whose  existence  does 
not  burn,  like  a  heated  wheel,  from  the  friction  of  ceaseless 
revolution.  Their  impossibility  is  a  leading  characteristic  of 


32  LEISURE. 

our  especial  race,  more  than  of  any  other  that  has  ever  sweated 
beneath  the  sun.  It  has  given  to  the  great  empire  from  which 
we  chiefly  draw  our  national  descent — and  to  which  we  are 
indebted  for  those  immortal  institutions,  dyspepsia  and  trial 
by  jury — its  place  of  honor  among  the  mighty  ones  of  the 
earth.  It  has  swept  the  forests  from  half  a  hemisphere 
around  us,  and  has  filled  it  with  a  mighty,  feverish,  restless, 
pallid  people — capable  of  everything  but  rational  enjoyment 
and  tranquil  happiness. 

Is  there  a  nation,  think  you,  save  ours,  on  the  face  of  the 
civilized  earth,  that  has  no  national  amusements  except  politics 
and  steamboat  excursions  ? — no  manly,  simple,  common  sports, 
which  win  crowds  on  holidays  to  robust  and  honest  exercise 
and  joy? — no  links  between  boyhood  and  manhood,  in  the 
remembrances  of  common  and  innocent  pleasure?  We  have, 
of  course,  the  exotic  enjoyments  of  music  and  the  drama — 
though  in  but  a  modified  degree,  since  a  large  part  of  the 
community  are  too  good,  and  a  very  large  part  too  busy,  or 
too  bad,  to  take  genuine  and  healthy  interest  in  them.  But 
these  have  come  to  us — such  as  they  are.  They  are  not  our  own. 
We  have,  in  fact,  no  national  holidays,  save  of  a  political 
complexion ;  and  the  sports  of  those  days  are  fierce  excitements 
rather,  of  which  the  less  that  is  said  the  better.  I  do  not 
mention  Thanksgiving,  because  its  principal  secular  occupation 
is  dinner,  and  that  is  too  much  of  an  unprofitable  pleasure,  we 
all  know,  to  be  permitted  to  occupy  much  of  our  valuable  time. 

Consider  another  significant  fact.  Ours  is  a  government 
entirely  popular — in  its  practice  even  more  so  than  in  its 
theory.  The  people  control  it — it  does  their  will — and  every 
aspirant  to  power  must  kiss  the  hem  of  their  garment,  and 


LEISURE.  33 

does  so.  Yet  is  it  not  strange  that  scarcely  anywhere — 
through  the  whole  extent  of  the  country — is  there  a  public 
walk,  for  the  luxury  and  health  of  the  people,  to  be  found  ? 
You  may  spend  millions  on  improving  the  trade  of  a  town— 
on  railroads  and  canals,  to  bring  merchandize  and  people  to 
it  and  carry  them  away  from  it — but  legislators  can  scarcely 
be  found,  except  here  and  there,  willing  to  take  the  responsi- 
bility of  expending  a  few  thousands  on  the  people  themselves 
— on  the  commonest  provision  for  their  enjoying  the  free  air, 
and  sitting  and  walking  with  their  wives  and  children  round 
them,  in  comfort,  underneath  the  blessed  open  skies.  And 
why  is  this  ?  Why  is  not  even  a  bid  made  for  popularity,  by 
doing  what  ought  to  be  so  popular?  Simply  because,  as  I 
have  said  over  and  over,  our  thought  and  our  policy,  and  our 
legislation,  are  of  the  trades  we  drive  and  not  of  the  human 
creatures  that  drive  them.  Because  we  are  looking — constitu- 
ents and  representatives  alike — to  the  money  we  make,  and 
not  to  ourselves,  the  poor  slaves  that  make  it.  Because,  like 
the  youth  in  the  Eastern  story,  when  we  go  down  into  the 
magician's  cave,  and  busy  ourselves  with  the  treasures  there, 
the  door  of  the  cavern  closes  behind  us  on  the  beautiful  things 
of  earth  and  heaven.  Why  should  we  provide  means  of 
enjoyment,  for  the  leisure  of  people  who  have  no  leisure? 
Has  not  Poor  Richard  said  that  "  leisure  is  time  for  doing 
something  useful  ?  " 

"  Get  all  you  can,  and  what  you  get  hold, 
Is  the  stone  that  will  turn  all  your  lead  into  gold ! " 

How  can  a  man  waste  time,  which  is  so  profitable,  in  the 
mere  unbending  of  his  heart  and  mind — the  paltry  refresh- 
5 


34  LEISURE. 

ment  of  his  weary  body  ?  The  true  cause — disguise  it  as  you 
will — of  the  absence  of  those  occupations  which  dignify,  and 
those  relaxations  which  improve  and  gladden  leisure,  is  that 
there  is  no  leisure  to  be  improved,  gladdened  or  dignified. 
We  realize  no  time  but  the  present,  and  that  only,  in  the 
sense  of  what  Hood  so  aptly  calls, 

"  The  present  tense  of  toil !  " 

But  after,  and  in  embarrassing  connection  with  this  enumer- 
ation of  the  evils  to  be  modified  or  cured — conies  always  the 
perplexing  question — what  is  the  cure?  It  is  not  easy  to 
change  the  habits  of  a  people — to  call  a  halt  upon  the  march 
which,  they  have  been  taught,  is  their  allotted  journey  from 
the  arms  of  the  mother  that  bore  them,  to  the  bosom  of  the 
universal  mother.  But,  nevertheless,  there  is  a  point  at 
which  all  revolutions  begin ;  and  those  beginnings  are  often 
so  small,  that  no  man  who  has  at  heart  the  good  of  his  species 
should  falter  or  despair  at  finding  them  apparently  insignifi- 
cant or  hopeless.  It  is  not  from  the  sons  of  toil,  in  the 
accepted  sense  of  the  word,  that  a  commencement  is  to  be 
looked  for,  when  the  burden  of  that  toil  is  to  be  lightened. 
It  is  not  by  the  less  educated  portion  of  the  community,  or 
the  less  refined,  that  a  change  is  to  be  wrought  in  favor  of 
that  leisure  which  gives  scope  for  education,  and  the  oppor- 
tunity for  refinement.  The  revolution  is  to  commence  at  the 
summit,  and  not  at  the  base  of  society  ;  and  it  is  a  farce  to 
say  that  because  this  is  a  republic,  society  has  no  base  and  no 
summit.  The  subordination  of  wealth  to  matured  intelli- 
gence, cultivated  taste,  social  accomplishments  and  virtues, 
and  all  those  qualities  and  gifts  which  make  one  man  superior 


LEISURE.  35 

to  another — in  spite  of  the  Declaration  of  Independence — and 
one  citizen  worthier  and  more  valuable  to  his  country  than 
another — can  only  be  the  result  of  a  movement  among  the 
more  favored  classes  themselves.  If  it  comes  from  those  who 
are  less  fortunate,  it  will  incur,  and  may  deserve,  the  reproach 
of  envy  and  hatred  ;  and  it  must  necessarily  provoke  antagon- 
ism, and  lose  its  influence  and  effect,  by  taking  the  shape 
of  a  class-revolution.  It  is  only  the  successful  who  can, 
without  suspicion,  cry  aloud  against  the  excesses  and  perils 
of  success.  It  is  only  those  who  are  favored  with  occupation, 
or  are  above  the  need  of  it,  who  can,  without  suspicion,  ask  a 
truce  in  favor  of  the  claims  and  blessings  of  leisure  and 
repose.  It  is  perfectly  vain  and  idle  to  expect  that  the 
millions,  who  are  toiling  up  the  hill,  will  pause,  unless  those 
who  have  ascended  it  before  them  will  come  down  and  meet 
them,  as  brothers,  on  the  way.  If  those  to  whom  Provi- 
dence has  vouchsafed  education  and  liberal  studies,  and  refin- 
ing and  intellectual  occupation,  will  cast  them  all  into  the 
furnace  (to  vary  Macaulay's  admirable  illustration),  so  that 
out  of  their  gold  may  be  made  a  calf,  which  they  are  content 
to  adore — how  can  those  with  humbler  opportunities  and 
lower  cultivation  be  expected  to  lift  themselves  into  a  loftier 
and  purer  worship  ?  Upon  those  who  have  won  the  victories 
of  life — to  much  or  little  purpose — are  the  responsibilities 
which  belong  to  their  position.  Men  are  not  worthy  to  be 
the  leaders  of  society,  if  they  are  not  willing  to  undertake  its 
guidance,  and  enlighten  it  by  their  example.  One  single 
private  life,  made  noticeable  by  honorable  effort  and  elevated 
tone — dignified,  in  its  labors,  by  fidelity  and  moderation,  and 
in  its  leisure,  by  cultivation  and  true  refinement — is,  in  itself 


36  LEISURE. 

and  its  attendant  courtesies  and  charities,  a  noble  republican 
institution.     It  is  among  the  noblest,  and  worth  a  Senateful 
of  demagogues   and  wranglers.     When    I    see   a   man   like 
George   Peabody — a   man   of   plain   intellect   and    moderate 
education — who  is  willing  to  take  away  from  the  acquisi- 
tions of  successful  trade,  what  would  make  the  fortunes  of  a 
hundred  men  of  reasonable  desires,  and  dedicate  it  to  the 
advancement  of  knowledge  and  the  cultivation  of  refining 
and  liberal  pursuits  and  tastes,  among  a  people  with  whom 
he  has  ceased  to  dwell,  except  in  the  recollections  of  early 
industry  and  struggle — I  recognize  a  spirit  which  tends  to 
make  men  satisfied  with  the  inequalities  of  fortune — which 
is  alive  to  the  true  ends  and  purposes  of  labor — which  gives 
as  well  as  takes — which  sees,  in  the  very  trophies  of  success, 
the  high  incumbent  duties  and  the  noble  pleasure  of  a  stew- 
ardship for  others.     And  yet,  one  such  man — in  himself — in 
his  life  and  the  example  which  it  gives — is  worth  tenfold 
more  to  a  community,  than  all  the  beneficence  of  which  his 
heart   may    make   him   prodigal.      And    in   that   sense,   the 
humblest  of  us  may  be  benefactors  to  society.     We  have  all 
one  gift,  at  least,   we  can  bestow  on  it — one  Institute  we 
can   found — ourselves — cultivated,  refined,  developed,  to  the 
extent   of  our   susceptibilities   and   faculties.      And   to   this 
we   come   back,   at   last — that   the   only   political   or   moral 
economy,  whose  lessons  are  other  than  a  snare,  is  that  which 
makes  the  vast  workings  of  trade,  and  business,  and  profes- 
sion— the  struggles,  inequalities  and  toils  of  life — subservient 
to  individual  development  and  happiness. 

Let  us  then  endeavor,  practically,  to  divest  ourselves  of  the 
unworthy  idea,  that  we  were  made  to  be  the  slaves  of  our 


LEISURE.  37 

callings  and  not  their  masters.  Let  us  strive — each  in  his 
allotted  sphere,  and  with  his  influence,  much  or  little — to  live 
down  the  false  philosophy  which  makes  unrest  and  labor  the 
only  attributes  of  human  duty,  and  spurns,  as  ignoble,  tran- 
quillity and  contemplation.  If  ever  a  country  needed  the 
existence  and  services  of  a  class  whose  habits  and  influence 
should  counteract  the  feverish  tendency  of  the  whole  race  to 
excitement  and  the  frenzy  of  gain  and  competition,  ours  is 
that  one.  We  must  cease  worshipping  men  who  are  merely 
rich,  as  heroes.  We  must  cease  to  regard  all  life  as  stagnant, 
except  that  whose  waters  are  a  whirlpool.  We  must  learn  to 
consider  the  season  of  toil  as  but  the  seed-time  of  rest.  We 
must  quench  something  of  our  thirst  for  public  life  and  its 
excitements.  We  must  recreate  private  life  as  a  social  institu- 
tion, hedged  around  by  the  sanctities  that  belong  to  it  and 
make  it  reverend.  Men  must  teach  their  children  that  the 
private  station,  if  honorably  filled,  is  indeed  the  post  of  honor. 
Public  men  must  be  taught,  by  public  opinion — in  the  shape, 
if  need  be,  of  public  scorn — that  to  elevate  the  people,  and  not 
to  flatter  or  corrupt  them,  is  the  road  of  successful  ambition. 
Our  moralists  must  cease  their  crusades  against  innocent 
amusements,  and  allow  cakes  and  ale  to  other  people,  though 
they  insist  on  being  virtuous  themselves.  Our  economists 
must  spike  the  guns  which  they  keep  always  levelled  at  the 
leisure  that  ventures  to  dwell  or  show  itself  where  there  is  not 
a  sign  over  the  door.  Those  who  work,  in  their  turn,  must 
forego  their  jealousy  of  those  who  rest.  Those  who  have  not 
enough,  or  who  believe  that  they  have  not,  or  intend  to  get 
more  whether  they  have  enough  or  not,  must  learn  that  it  is 
bad  sense,  as  well  as  bad  taste  and  bad  manners,  to  sneer  at 


38  LEISURE. 

the  refining  occupations  and  modest  desires  of  those  who  are 
willing  to  go  upon  the  retired  list,  though  with  but  half-pay. 
The  social  manifestations  of  wealth,  too,  must  be  something 
more  than  fine  mansions,  equipages  and  upholstery.  Its  pride, 
its  pleasures,  and  its  distinguishing  characteristics  must  lie 
less  in  these.  It  must  set  itself  to  work  to  acquire  or  develop 
tastes,  as  well  as  to  buy  the  products  of  taste.  It  must  honor, 
and  strive  to  appreciate,  art,  as  well  as  encourage  artists — 
which  though  an  excellent,  is  a  very  different  thing.  It  must 
read  books,  as  well  as  collect  them  in  Gothic  or  Elizabethan 
book-cases.  It  must  live  in  its  houses,  and  open  its  doors,  in 
sympathy  and  not  in  ostentation,  to  all  who  deserve  to  enter, 
and  must  make  them  welcome  to  the  elevating  influences 
which  should  dwell  within.  It  must  widen  the  social  plat- 
form, so  that  all  who  are  worthy  may  have  room  to  stand  on 
it.  Men  must  be  taught,  by  its  encouragements,  that  their 
social  position  depends  upon  what  they  are — not  upon  what 
they  have — that  they  can  be  poor  and  yet  be  prized.  There 
must  be  an  end  of  the  humiliating  and  degrading  doctrine — 
practically  the  maxim  of  the  land — that  all  things  worthy 
of  struggle  and  ambition  are  like  the  mistletoe  of  the  Druid,  to 
be  gathered  only  with  a  golden  sickle.  Thus,  and  not  other- 
wise, can  men  be  induced  to  turn  aside,  from  their  business 
and  its  gains,  to  themselves.  Thus,  alone,  can  they  be  tempted 
to  cultivate  the  leisure  which  makes  them  men,  instead  of 
sacrificing  what  is  best  in  them  to  the  toil  which  makes  them 
only  rich. 

Is  this  Utopia?  It  may  be — yet,  if  it  be,  republicanism 
is  Utopia  likewise — for  this,  in  its  essence  and  its  details,  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  practical  republicanism,  rescued 


LEISURE.  39 

from  the  manipulations  of  the  theorist  and  the  unclean 
hands  of  the  demagogue,  and  brought  back  to  its  legiti- 
mate and  simple  purpose — the  advancement  of  human  happi- 
ness. If  it  is  not  capable  of  condescending  to  so  commonplace 
a  destiny — if  it  is 

"  too  bright  and  good 


For  human  nature's  daily  food  "- 

if  all  its  paraphernalia  of  principles  and  institutions  can  bring 
us  nothing  better,  as  their  consummation,  than  a  national  life 
of  turmoil  and  excitement,  to  grow  powerful,  and  an  indi- 
vidual life  of  toil  and  sacrifice,  to  grow  rich — it  has  fooled 
the  world,  and  us  especially,  with  a  pretended  mission,  and 
should  be  listened  to  no  more.  Better  bid  it — with  Bar- 
dolph's  cozeners — "  set  spurs  and  away,  like  three  German 
devils,  three  Doctor  Faustuses,"  in  search  of  "  the  solidarity 
of  the  peoples,"  or  some  similar  Will  of  the  Wisp !  I 
confess  that  I  have  a  better  opinion  of  it ;  and  it  is  because 
I  have,  that  I  have  ventured  on  so  earnest  an  appeal,  in 
its  behalf — as  I  understand  it. 


VALEDICTORY  ADDRESS 

TO   THE 

GRADUATING    CLASS 

OP   THE 

SCHOOL    OF    MEDICINE 

OF  THE 

UNIVERSITY  OF  MARYLAND, 


DELIVERED   AT   THE 


HOLLIDAY  STREET  THEATRE,  BALTIMORE, 
MARCH  3c,  1869. 


VALEDICTORY. 


Gentlemen  of  the  Graduating  Class : 

TOUR  Faculty  has  seen  fit,  on  the  present  occasion,  as 
the  distinguished  Provost  has  informed  you,  to  depart 
from  the  long-established  custom  which  would  have  given 
you  the  pleasure  of  receiving,  from  the  lips  of  one  of  its  own 
members,  the  cordial  welcome  and  God-speed  which  I  am 
commissioned  to  offer  you.  Had  I  not  been  educated  in  the 
doctrine  of  implicit  faith  and  passive  obedience,  where  my 
medical  advisers  are  concerned,  I  might  have  ventured  to 
doubt  whether  it  was  altogether  fair,  in  the  last  hour  of  your 
immediate  connexion  with  the  University,  to  deprive  you 
of  the  benefit  of  those  wise  counsels  which  none  could  give 
you  half  so  well  as  the  experienced,  able  and  accomplished 
men  in  whose  name  I  have  the  honor  to  address  you.  Certain 
it  is,  I  should  have  shrunk,  with  unaffected  self-distrust,  from 
the  attempt  to  represent  them,  had  they  not  relieved  me 
from  the  duty  to  do  more  than  speak  for  them  a  few  kind, 
parting  words. 

Although  a  member  of  a  different  profession  from  yours,  I 
fancy,  Gentlemen,  that  my  experience  and  observation  of  the 
struggles,  temptations  and  disappointments  of  that  to  which 

43 


44  VALEDICTORY. 

I  belong,  have  given  me  a  reasonable  comprehension  of  the 
difficulties  which  beset  your  path.  Upon  the  other  hand,  I 
have  so  often  witnessed  at  the  Bar  the  triumphs  of  industry, 
energy  and  fidelity  to  duty  over  the  same  obstacles,  that  I 
feel  justified  in  promising  the  rewards  of  your  own  elevated 
calling,  to  those  of  you  who  dedicate  yourselves  to  it  man- 
fully, as  it  deserves. 

And  here,  let  us  understand  each  other,  once  for  all.  When 
I  speak  of  professional  success  and  the  rewards  of  professional 
ability  and  effort,  I  do  not  mean — for  I  should  hold  it  an 
insult  to  your  aspirations  to  present  you — only  the  grosser 
and  more  tangible  results  which  take  the  shape  of  popularity 
and  pay.  No  sensible  man  despises  or  pretends  to  overlook 
these,  of  course.  The  atmosphere  of  human  life,  bright  as 
it  may  be  with  the  rosiest  visions,  still  rests  upon  the  ground. 
Love,  even,  we  have  high  authority  for  saying — though  I 
receive  it  with  indignant  doubt — will  sometimes  fly  out  at  the 
window  when  poverty  but  peeps  in  at  the  door.  Among  the 
most  fanciful  of  medical  theories,  I  believe  I  am  safe  in  sup- 
posing, there  are  none  which  affect  to  dispense  altogether  with 
the  process  of  nutrition.  And  then,  too,  the  love  of  applause 
is  so  perpetual  a  spur — to  speak,  perhaps,  more  appropriately 
— so  pleasing  a  stimulant,  to  the  noblest  natures ;  it  is  so 
mixed  up  with  our  highest  and  purest  and  most  genial  im- 
pulses, that  to  discourage  it  would  be  like  blunting  our  sense 
of  the  good  and  the  beautiful,  or  blotting  out  any  other  of 
those  fine,  great  instincts  which  are  the  celestial  leaven  of 
humanity.  Whether  the  thirst  after  a  reputation  which  we 
shall  enjoy  in  life,  or  the  craving  for  a  name  which  shall  live 
after  us,  be  the  more  effectual  incentive  to  the  things  which 


VALEDICTORY.  45 

make  men  great,  I  am  not  here  to  discuss.  It  is  a  question 
which  the  debating-societies  have  left  unsettled ;  and  I  suppose, 
after  all,  that  its  solution  depends,  in  a  great  degree,  upon  the 
mental  and  moral  organization  of  individuals.  There  is  to 
almost  every  one,  and  there  should  be  to  all,  a  charm  in  the 
visible  tributes  of  public  admiration  and  respect.  When, 
therefore,  the  world  crowds  around  a  man,  burning  myrrh 
and  frankincense,  he  naturally  enjoys  the  present  swinging 
of  the  censers,  a  good  deal  more  than  the  prospect  of  their 
smoking,  ever  so  devoutly,  at  his  funeral.  The  honors  which 
come  home,  like  fruits  and  flowers  in  season,  while  taste  and 
appetite  are  fresh  and  the  senses  yet  rejoice  in  fragrance  and 
beauty,  are  apt  to  win  even  the  loftiest  and  greatest  from  lone 
dreams  of  palms  and  bay  trees,  which  shall  be  watered  in 
centuries  to  come.  When  we  think,  for  instance,  of  Raphael, 
in  the  full  splendor  of  his  triumphs  and  his  fame,  the  friend 
of  Popes  and  Cardinals  and  Princes,  beloved  of  women, 
envied  and  adored  by  men — the  very  "  centre  of  a  world's 
desire" — we  feel  that  we  should  scarcely  marvel  if,  amid  such 
fascinations,  he  forgot  the  beckoning  angels  of  his  youth. 
And  yet,  when  we  remember  Raphael,  dead  in  the  chamber 
where  he  painted,  with  the  fresh  canvass  of  the  Transfigura- 
tion radiant  above  his  bier  and  making  its  mortality  immortal, 
we  wonder  how  any  creature  with  a  soul,  could  barter  the 
prescience,  nay,  even  the  mere  dream,  of  such  a  glory,  for 
any  other  thing  that  life  could  give. 

Do  not,  I  pray  you,  think  that  I  am  leading  you  away  to 
cloud-land.  It  is  one  of  the  sad  mistakes  of  our  generation, 
that  to  be  practical  you  must  descend ;  and  the  lower  you 
descend  the  more  practical  you  become.  There  is  a  growing 


46  VALEDICTORY. 

contempt  for  everything  that  cannot  be  measured  or  counted ; 
and  the  busy  men,  whose  mission  upon  earth  is  to  have  irons 
in  the  fire,  have  a  sort  of  notion  that  the  world  has  grown 
too  old  and  wise  to  let  sentiment  be  a  hindrance  to  results. 
Society  says  to  the  moralist,  as  Scrooge  said  to  Marley's 
Ghost,  "  Don't  be  hard  upon  me  !  Don't  be  flowery,  Jacob  ! " 
But,  unless  we  have  made  up  our  minds,  conclusively  and  in 
despair,  that  we  must  take  the  facilis  descensus,  without 
thought  of  where  it  leads,  it  is  clear  that  some  one  must  look 
upward  and  point  upward.  Ignoble  practices  and  doctrines 
must  be  confronted  by  nobler  teachings  from  some  quarter ; 
and  it  seems  to  me  the  special  obligation  of  those  whose 
studies  and  vocation  are  intellectual,  and  consequently  elevat- 
ing in  themselves,  to  set  the  example  of  a  loftier  standard 
in  both  purpose  and  pursuit.  When,  therefore,  I  address 
gentlemen,  like  you,  just  entering,  with  the  vigor  and  enthu- 
siasm of  fresh  manhood,  upon  an  honorable  and — if  you  will 
it — an  eminent  career,  I  feel  that  the  most  truly  practical 
things  that  I  can  say  to  you  are  those  which  lift  your  minds 
and  hearts  up  to  the  very  highest  reach  of  thought  and  duty. 
I  do  not,  of  course,  invite  you  to  listen  to  sad  moralities  out 
of  Rasselas,  nor  to  beautiful  sentiments  such  as  those  which 
our  acquaintance,  Mr.  Surface,  has  so  often  uttered  on  these 
boards.  Yet,  T  conceive  that  I  but  point  the  moral  of  your 
scientific  education  in  the  venerable  University  with  whose 
benison  you  now  go  forth,  when  I  warn  you  against  the 
seductions  which  would  lead  you  from  the  true  and  ennobling 
aims  of  your  profession,  in  searcli  of  those  rewards  which 
only  gratify  vanity  or  purchase  ease.  Lament  it  as  we  may, 
it  cannot  be  honestly  denied  that  in  our  country,  in  the  days 


VALEDICTORY.  47 

in  which  we  live,  the  chief  temptation  with  which  young  men 
of  ability  and  ambition  have  to  struggle,  is  that  which  places 
wealth  and  notoriety  before  them  as  the  sufficient  ends  of 
practical  life.  Whether  it  be  the  natural  and  necessary  effect 
of  our  system  of  government  as  administered,  or  of  bad  seed 
planted  early  somewhere  in  our  political  and  social  soil,  or 
of  circumstances  and  influences  which  have  misdirected  our 
national  career,  it  boots  not  to  inquire.  It  is  enough  for  us 
to  know  and  recognize  the  fact,  that  to  live  upon  the  common 
breath — the  popularis  aura — is  every  day  judged  more  and 
more  the  worthiest  life ;  and  to  put  money  in  the  purse  is  held, 
yet  more  and  more,  its  highest,  chief  concern.  The  reputa- 
tion of  excellence  has  grown  to  be  taken  for  as  good  a  thing 
as  excellence  itself,  and  the  influence  and  power  which  come 
from  accumulated  wealth  are  esteemed  better  than  the  virtues 
and  the  culture  which  would  give  it  dignity  and  grace.  It  is 
not  worth  that  makes  the  man,  but  what  the  man  is  worth. 
Of  course,  there  are  many  patriots  who  will  say  that  this  is 
unpatriotic,  and  crowds  of  successful  and  rising  people  who 
will  laugh  at  it  as  mere  "theory,"  which  they  regard  as 
synonymous  with  nonsense.  But,  Gentlemen,  we  are  under  no 
obligation — we  have  no  right — to  deny  what  we  see,  because 
others  will  not  use  their  eyes,  or  are  blind ;  nor  can  we  accept 
as  our  standard  of  morals,  the  precepts  and  practice  of  those 
who  have  none.  It  is,  therefore,  with  the  most  urgent  entreaty 
that  I  appeal  to  you,  for  your  own  sakes — for  the  sake  of 
the  science  you  profess  and  the  society  you  may  adorn — to 
remember  and  cherish  the  dignity  of  your  calling,  and  your 
own  respect  as  its  ministers,  amid  the  seductions  to  which 
its  prosecution  is  especially  exposed. 


48  VALEDICTORY. 

I  need  not  tell  you  what  your  calling  signifies,  nor  what  is 
tributary  to  it.  It  sweeps,  in  its  high  scope,  the  whole  sphere 
of  physical  and  moral  science.  It  leads  you  into  all  the 
recesses  and  arcana  of  nature.  It  is  a  pursuit,  the  zest  of 
which  is  forever  heightened  and  freshened  by  new  discovery, 
and  which  perpetually  opens  new  vistas  of  curious,  or  delight- 
ful, or  sublime  speculation.  It  ranges  from  the  contemplation 
of  the  mightiest  elemental  forces,  through  the  most  simple 
and  the  most  intricate  developments  of  primordial  law,  down 
to  the  study  of  the  minutest  atoms  which  only  the  microscope 
sees  floating  in  the  viewless  air.  And  yet,  comprehensive  as 
it  is,  it  has  none  of  the  coldness  or  the  barrenness  of  abstrac- 
tion about  it.  You  can  grasp  its  results  as  with  your  hand — 
nay,  as  you  would  grasp  the  hand  of  a  friend,  for  they  are 
as  full  of  substantial  sympathy  as  of  thought.  Like  the 
Chaldean,  it  watches,  with  its  guarded  flocks  around  it,  and 
warms  the  young  lambs  in  its  bosom,  while  its  gaze  is  on  the 
stars.  All  the  fruits  of  its  grand  ventures  come  back  with  it 
to  visit  the  abodes  and  comfort  the  afflictions  of  men.  Surely 
its  functions  are  a  worship  in  themselves,  and  its  priesthood 
should  enter  its  temple  with  heads  uncovered  and  uplifted 
hearts.  Of  course,  its  highest  places  are  above  the  common 
reach.  But  all  its  places,  when  honorably  filled,  are  places 
of  honor,  be  they  high  or  low.  And  even  the  most  humble 
of  them  are  a  sort  of  mystery  to  the  world  at  large.  Men, 
for  the  most  part,  take  your  profession  upon  trust,  and  their 
very  confidence  puts  you  upon  honor  to  deal  fairly  with  them. 
At  the  same  time  it  offers  you  the  temptation  to  be  false,  if 
you  will.  You  may  deceive  society,  if  you  choose,  and  get 
money  and  reputation  by  cheating  it,  if  you  are  clever  and 


VALEDICTORY.  49 

dishonest.  Know  you  ever  so  little,  you  will  know  more 
than  the  most  of  those  who  put  faith  in  you  ;  and  you  will 
generally  have  the  advantage  which  he  who  knows  anything, 
always  has  over  him  who  knows  less.  You  may  be  impostors 
and  mountebanks,  and  know  yourselves  and  be  known  to 
your  brethren  to  be  such,  and  yet  prosper  like  sages,  through 
the  credulity  of  those  who  are  more  ignorant  than  you. 

In  the  profession  to  which  I  belong  there  is,  of  course, 
some  room  for  the  same  sort  of  imposture.  But,  for  the 
most  part,  you  have  much  the  advantage  of  us  in  the  oppor- 
tunities for  quackery.  There  is  the  sanction  of  an  old,  and 
therefore,  I  suppose  we  must  presume,  authentic  story,  for 
fearing  that  the  earth  covers  up  much  of  your  evil  behavior. 
The  Roman  populace  gave  countenance,  on  a  memorable 
occasion,  to  this  scandalous  idea,  for  when  the  good  Adrian 
VI  was  gathered  to  his  fathers,  you  remember  they  adorned 
the  house  of  his  physician  with  garlands,  and  inscribed  on 
it :  "  To  the  deliverer  of  his  country  ! "  In  Spain,  where 
the  physician  still  carries  the  gold-headed  cane  which  used 
to  be  the  wand  of  your  office,  he  never  attends  the  funerals 
of  his  patients.  There  is  a  sort  of  popular  superstition,  that 
he  would  be  reversing  Scripture  and  following  his  works. 
The  misdeeds  of  our  profession,  on  the  contrary,  rest  mainly 
on  the  earth's  surface,  and  an  autopsy  is  commonly  a  matter 
of  course.  We  are  confronted  in  the  discharge  of  our  most 
important  duties  by  astute  and  zealous  rivals,  weighed  by 
impartial  judges  and  observant  juries,  under  the  challenge  of 
public  scrutiny.  What  we  do  most  privately  is  open  always 
to  the  suspicions  and  the  questioning  of  adverse  interests. 
Nobody  thinks  of  going  to  the  apothecary's  to  criticise  your 
7 


50  VALEDICTORY. 

prescriptions,  after  your  patient  has  set  out  on  the  "  Her  tene- 
brioosum;"  but  there  is  a  lively  solicitude,  generally,  concern- 
ing the  last  will  and  testament  which  we  have  prepared  for 
him.  The  mourners  often  go  about  the  streets  which  lead  to 
the  recording-offices,  when  they  would  hardly 

"Visit  at  new  graves 
In  tender  pilgrimage  " — 

as  poor  Hood  sighs. 

Nor  does  the  difference  end  here.  Your  relation  is  neces- 
sarily personal  and  domestic,  as  well  as  professional,  towards 
those  whom  you  advise.  We  are  often,  doubtless,  the  private 
counsellors,  the  family  advisers  of  our  clients,  but  we  are  most 
generally  introduced  to  that  professional  occupation  through 
the  doors  of  interest.  Your  duty,  on  the  other  hand,  leads 
you  to  men's  confidence  through  their  tenderest  solicitudes 
and  their  affections.  They  look  to  you  for  succor,  hope  and 
consolation.  You  see  them  in  physical  suffering,  or  broken 
by  the  anguish  which  springs  from  love  and  sympathy.  You 
know  the  secrets  of  families,  their  sorrows,  their  troubles,  their 
weaknesses.  If  not  confessors,  you  are  oftentimes  confidants, 
constantly  spectators,  of  what  the  world  knows  not.  The 
trust,  therefore,  which  is  reposed  in  you  is  not  only  sacred, 
but  blind,  and  the  greater,  in  proportion,  is  the  baseness  of 
being  false  to  it.  And  by  this,  of  course,  I  do  not  mean  the 
vulgar  baseness  of  betraying  confidence,  for  on  that  point  no 
gentleman  of  any  profession  can  need  counsel.  I  refer  to  the 
falsehood  which  is  involved  in  dealing  with  those  who  have 
absolute  faith  in  you,  so  that  you  shall  pass  with  them  for 
what  you  are  not ;  so  that  you  shall  attain  the  popularity 


VALEDICTORY.  51 

which  comes  from  pleasing  and  pretending,  instead  of  that 
which  springs  from  toiling  and  deserving.  I  know  very 
well  that  necessity  is  turbulent  and  lawless.  I  know  the 
heart-sickness  of  hope  deferred — the  "  fever  of  vain  longing." 
I  know  how  tempting  is  that  royal  road  which  leads  to  suc- 
cess, though  it  may  not  lead  to  science.  I  fully  understand 
how  hard  it  is  for  a  poor  man  to  go  on  delving  in  the  mine, 
in  search  of  the  true  metal,  when  he  can  gather  surface-earth 
by  handfuls,  and  sell  it  readily  for  gold.  I  am  familiar  with 
the  snares  which  are  set  by  the  lax  morals  and  the  follies  of 
society  for  self-love,  for  cupidity,  for  sloth,  for  weakness,  and 
I  appreciate  the  intellectual  and  moral  force  which  it  requires 
to  keep  your  feet  from  them  all.  But,  Gentlemen,  the  capacity 
to  withstand  those  temptations  and  overcome  those  difficulties 
is  the  test  of  your  ability  to  rise  above  the  dead  level  of  your 
calling.  It  is  that  which  will  determine  whether  you  are 
fit  for  what  you  undertake  to-day — whether  your  names  will 
be  heard  among  your  fellows  and  remembered,  or  be  counted, 
unknown,  by  the  dozen,  for  oblivion. 

All  cannot  be  great  men,  as  I  have  said  already,  in  your 
profession  or  in  any.  The  range  of  excellence  and  usefulness, 
however,  is  happily  immense,  upon  this  side  of  greatness. 
There  are  lesser  heights,  quite  high  enough  for  rational  ambi- 
tion— too  high  for  anything  but  toil  and  courage  to  attain. 
Fortunate  are  they  who  can  reach  even  these,  after  years  of 
patient  and  conscientious  struggle.  Without  patience  and 
without  struggle,  let  no  man  fool  himself  into  the  hope  of 
treading  them.  The  world,  outside,  has  but  a  limited  idea, 
and  even  a  more  limited  appreciation,  of  what  it  costs,  in  heart 
and  brain,  to  earn  a  well-deserved  professional  superiority. 


52  VALEDICTORY. 

The  ready  faculties,  the  quick  resource,  the  kuowledge, 
accurate  and  copious,  which  comes  at  call ;  the  self-reliance 
which  has  grown  from  self-distrust  and  mastered  it ;  the  ease 
which  springs  from  difficulties  habitually  fought  and  over- 
come ;  all  these  appear  so  simple  to  the  common  thought, 
that  it  mistakes  them  for  a  happy  inspiration.  It  fancies,  I 
dare  say,  for  instance,  that  your  venerable  Professor  of  Sur- 
gery has  become  what  he  is — one  of  the  foremost  men  of  all 
his  time — mainly  by  the  cheap  and  lucky  accident  of  genius. 
Gentlemen,  I  have  entreated  you  not  to  impose  upon  the 
world — let  me  beg  you  not  to  let  the  world  cheat  you.  Let 
not  its  folly  or  its  flattery — its  untaught  or  depreciating 
estimate  of  what  it  takes  to  make  a  man  of  science — bewilder 
or  seduce  you.  You  can  be  charlatans,  readily  ;  quacks,  with 
all  the  ease  in  the  world.  You  can  be  puffed  into  prominence 
by  politics  or  fashion,  and  "  pull  wires,"  as  it  is  called,  to 
your  advantage,  when  you  will,  if  you  do  not  object  to  soil- 
ing your  hands.  But,  if  you  cherish  the  profession  to  which 
you  belong,  for  what  is  noble  in  its  aims  and  elevating  in  its 
pursuit ;  if  you  have  taken  up,  in  good  earnest,  the  following 
after  truth  ;  if  you  love  science  for  its  own  sake,  and  are  its 
disciples  because  you  love  it ;  you  have  the  work  of  a  life- 
time before  you,  and  he  trifles  with  your  intelligence  and  your 
manhood  who  tells  you  otherwise. 

I  am  aware  that  I  am  probably  addressing  some  whose 
ambition  is  moderate,  and  whose  expectations  will  be  fully 
met,  if  they  are  able  to  secure  to  themselves  a  comfortable 
support  from  their  profession  and  a  respectable  position  in  its 
ranks.  I  should  be  very  sorry  were  I  understood  as  meaning 
to  depreciate  that  large  and  honorable  class — the  men  of  mod- 


VALEDICTORY.  53 

erate  professional  ability  and  attainments — or  to  exclude  them 
from  the  scope  of  the  reasoning  which  I  have  endeavored 
to  present.  So  far  am  I  from  this,  that  I  regard  them  as 
specially  within  its  purview.  Something  is  always  conceded 
to  the  eccentricities  of  genius.  Men  whose  abilities  and  skill 
are  so  great  as  to  make  them  necessary  to  society,  can  generally 
deal  with  it  on  their  own  terms.  Much  is  pardoned  to  those 
whom  we  cannot  do  without.  We  take  them,  as  the  lawyers 
say,  cam  onere — with  all  their  imperfections  on  their  heads. 
With  mediocrity,  no  matter  how  respectable,  there  are  fewer 
compromises.  The  market  is  full  of  it,  and  this  lessens  the 
demand  and  cheapens  the  commodity.  Apart  therefore  from 
the  obligation  of  professional  truthfulness  and  integrity,  which 
is  as  binding  on  the  humble  as  on  the  exalted,  there  is  the 
additional  inducement  embodied  in  the  somewhat  low-toned 
moral  proposition,  that  "  honesty  is  the  best  policy."  And 
there  is  still  another  consideration  which  is  worthier.  The 
less  gifted  members  of  your  profession  have  to  deal,  as  a  gen- 
eral rule,  with  a  lower  grade  of  intelligence  in  their  patients, 
and  are  less  conspicuously  placed  before  the  public  scrutiny 
than  their  more  fortunate  brethren.  The  temptation  to  impos- 
ture is  therefore  the  greater  with  them ;  first,  because  it  is 
easier,  and  then  because  it  is  less  readily  found  out.  Besides, 
it  saves  an  infinite  amount  of  trouble.  When  I  picture  to 
myself,  for  example,  a  country  physician,  who  is  expected  to 
carry  science  and  medicine  to  everybody's  door,  as  King 
Alfred  is  reputed  to  have  carried  justice ;  whose  saddle-bags 
are  looked  to,  by  half  a  legislative  district,  as  containing 

"All  simples  that  have  virtue 
Under  the  moon ;  " 


54  VALEDICTORY. 

I  must  frankly  admit  his  title  to  be  classed  among  the  un- 
crowned martyrs.  I  cannot  wonder  if,  with  the  weakness 
of  humanity,  he  should  give  up  the  studies  for  which  he 
scarce  has  time,  nor  if  the  enthusiasm  which  once  warmed 
him  should  be  jaded  into  empiricism  and  routine.  But,  if  it 
be  so,  it  is  simply  because  he  is  not  made  of  the  right  stuff. 
It  is  because  he  was  born  into  a  world  where  difficulties  surge 
breast-high,  without  the  pluck  to  overcome  them.  He  has 
gone  to  sleep,  like  Christian,  in  the  arbor  on  the  hill-side. 
He  was  called  but  not  chosen.  Least  of  all  men  could  he  do 
without  the  moral  supports  which  prop  up  failing  endeavor ; 
least  of  all  could  he  forego  the  high  resolves  which  may  be 
so  engrafted  on  a  feeble  nature  as  to  bring  heroism  out  of 
sheer  irresolution. 

I  use  the  proud  word,  heroism,  in  its  proudest  sense.  Your 
calling  has  its  battles,  which  demand  the  courage  of  the  tented 
field,  without  the  war-cry  to  inflame  it ;  without  the  drum- 
beat, or  the  banners,  or  the  fanfare  of  the  trumpets.  I  am 
not  thinking  of  its  walks  amid  the  pestilence ;  its  midnight 
visitation  of  the  dens  of  sin  and  crime ;  its  calm  defiance  of 
the  sun  and  storms  that  slay.  Nor  do  I  mean  the  prowess 
of  the  iron  nerve,  which,  in  the  very  face  of  the  Destroyer, 
can  parry,  with  unshaken  hand,  his  dart  as  it  descends.  It 
is  the  silent,  endless,  unseen  toil  of  which  I  speak  ;  the  stern 
forgetful  ness  or  sacrifice  of  self;  the  sleepless  vigilance;  the 
tranquil  energy  ;  the  patience  which  repines  not ;  the  zeal  for 
truth  and  knowledge,  which  has  all  the  passionate  vigor  of 
enthusiasm,  without  its  restlessness  or  fluctuation.  A  man 
who  has  these  qualities  is  of  heroic  stature,  call  him  what  you 
may.  In  your  profession  there  is  no  one  truly  great  who  is 


VALEDICTORY.  55 

not,  more  or  less,  endowed  with  them.  And  if  there  be  a 
profession  which  should  elicit  and  develop  them,  it  is  yours. 
In  that  of  which  I  am  an  humble  member  there  is  undoubt- 
edly more  of  the  stimulus  which  comes  from  personal  collision 
and  triumph.  Its  contests  are  dramatic.  Its  excitements  stir 
the  blood.  Its  successes,  sometimes,  have  the  glow  and  flush 
of  victory  in  downright  strife.  It  has  all  that  is  animating 
and  ennobling  in  the  grapple  of  mind  with  mind,  the  rivalry 
of  skill,  experience  and  courage,  wrestling  with  courage, 
experience  and  skill.  But  the  triumph  dies  almost  with  the 
struggle ;  and  the  reputation  of  the  lawyer  who  has  led  his 
Bar  for  half  a  lifetime,  is  as  transitory,  nearly,  as  the  echoes 
of  his  voice.  He  contributes  little  or  nothing  to  the  stock 
of  human  knowledge.  He  has  given  himself  to  the  study 
and  application  of  a  science — if  indeed  it  be  a  science — which 
as  often  deals  with  artificial  principles  and  dogmas  as  with 
great,  abiding  truths.  In  grasping  at  the  philosophy  of  juris- 
prudence, he  is  fettered,  even  in  this  day  and  generation,  by 
precedents  of  scholastic  absurdity  which  date  back  before  the 
Wars  of  the  Roses,  and  by  statutes  the  very  records  of  which 
were  lost  before  the  Reformation.  The  scientific  aim  and 
effort  of  his  professional  life  is  simply  to  show  that  "  thus  it 
is  written."  The  legacy  which  he  is  able  to  leave  behind  him 
to  society  is  therefore  rarely  better,  in  his  best  estate,  than  a 
tradition  of  high  faculties,  fearlessly  and  honestly  dedicated 
to  justice  and  duty.  Even  the  triumphs  of  oratory — once 
the  perpetual  grace  and  honor  of  the  forum — can  now  rarely 
come  to  him.  The  pressure  of  business  and  the  fashion  of 
the  time  have  limited  discussion  in  the  courts,  and  stripped 
its  forms  almost  to  nakedness.  As,  in  the  British  Parliament, 


56  VALEDICTORY. 

the  orator  has  made  way  for  the  debater,  so,  at  the  bar,  the 
practical  statement  has  superseded  the  oratorical  display.  The 
glory  of  old  days  has  fled  from  us,  in  this,  and  eloquence  has 
gone — to  Congress. 

Of  course  you  understand  me,  in  speaking  of  professional 
inducements  and  rewards,  in  this  connexion,  as  referring  to 
those  only  which  belong  to  the  Bar  in  its  legitimate,  exclusive 
sphere.  I  am  discussing  the  lawyer,  as  distinguished  from 
the  politician  on  the  one  hand,  and  the  law-giver  on  the 
other.  The  politician  finds  his  opportunities  in  the  profes- 
sion, and  may  make  it  his  base  of  prosperous  operations ;  but 
his  rewards  and,  let  us  trust,  his  aims  and  responsibilities,  are 
outside  of  it.  The  law-giver  may  rise  from  the  profession  to 
his  loftier  vocation,  but  the  two  are  not  the  same ;  and  even 
if  they  were,  his  opportunities  of  greatness — always  far  apart 
among  the  centuries — must  soon  be  parcelled  out,  as  the 
world  goes,  between  the  pockets  of  the  lobby  and  the  pas- 
sions of  the  mob. 

It  is  your  fortune,  Gentlemen,  that  of  the  laws  you  study 
the  hand  of  man  writes  none  and  alters  none.  Blindness 
may  read  them  not,  or  foolishness  misread  ;  but  immemorial 
Nature  is  made  up  of  them,  and  while  it  lives  they  cannot 
perish  or  be  shorn  of  their  dominion.  A  great  light  of  your 
profession  and  of  literature — the  author  of  Reliyio  Medici — 
speaks  to  us  of  Nature,  as  "  that  universal  and  public  manu- 
script that  lies  expanded  unto  the  eyes  of  all."  How  few 
of  those  who  study  it  most  closely,  can  translate  its  mystic 
language — how  often  the  wisest  may  be  dazzled  by  its  illumi- 
nated pages,  or  lost  in  the  great  depths  of  its  abounding 
lore — you  may  learn  from  the  records  of  human  error,  which, 


VALEDICTORY.  57 

alas !  tell  the  completes!  story  of  human  wisdom.  But  you 
have  the  consolation  of  knowing,  while  you  strive  to  read, 
that  truth  is  there  before  your  eyes,  and  that  at  last  they  may 
be  kindled  to  discern  it.  The  humblest  patient  hand  may 
cleanse  at  least  some  little  portion  of  the  mighty  palimpsest, 
and  feel  its  pulses  burn  with  joy  and  reverence  as  the  live 
word  comes  flashing  out  at  last.  If  you  are  animated  by  the 
love  of  science  and  your  kind,  one  truth,  thus  brought  to 
light,  is  in  itself  a  victory  and  crown.  If  you  are  yearning 
in  your  souls  for  praise,  you  hear  its  voice  made  musical  by 
gratitude.  If  you  desire  to  be  remembered  when  your  dust 
is  as  that  of  the  Pharaohs,  you  have  written  your  names  upon 
a  tablet  as  imperishable  as  their  pyramids.  Think  you  that 
the  name  of  Harvey  will  die  while  men's  hearts  beat — or  the 
theology  of  murdered  Servetus  live  as  long  as  his  explorations 
of  nature?  No,  Gentlemen,  your  profession  has  this  in  it, 
that  its  progress  goes  step  by  step  with  the  progress  of 
humanity,  and  that  every  truth  which  it  rears  up  by  the 
way-side  shall  stand  there  as  a  memorial  forever. 

You  must,  nevertheless,  admit,  I  think,  that  Medicine  has 
now  and  then  set  up  some  things  which  were  not  altogether 
truths,  but  which  it  fought  for  quite  as  earnestly  as  if  they 
were.  In  this,  I  grant  it  only  shares  the  common  weakness 
of  all  faiths  and  of  all  sciences.  King  Saladin  was  quite  as 
true  a  knight  as  Richard,  and  struck  for  Paynimrie  as 
bravely,  and  almost  as  cruelly,  as  did  the  Lion-hearted  for 
the  Cross.  The  learned  philosophers  who  ascertained  that 
nature  had  no  fancy  for  a  vacuum,  were  quite  as  proud  of 
knowing  her  likes  and  dislikes,  as  others  were,  who  followed 
them,  of  teaching  she  had  neither.  So  when  leech-craft 
8 


58  VALEDICTORY. 

anointed  the  dagger,  instead  of  the  wound,  it  was  at  least 
as  well  satisfied  with  itself  as  when  it  first  used  chloroform. 
John  Aubrey,  who  was  a  Fellow  of  the  Royal  Society, 
doubtless  published  his  recipe  for  curing  an  ague  by  wear- 
ing a  "  spell "  around  the  neck,  with  as  honest  and  fine  a 
dogmatism,  as  a  member  of  the  Faculty,  fifty  years  ago, 
could  have  blended  with  the  praises  of  calomel  and  bark. 
Your  reading  has  disclosed  to  you  the  rise,  establishment  and 
tyranny  of  countless  scientific  dynasties,  which  turned  out 
to  be  lines  of  only  pasteboard  kings  at  last.  The  bones  of 
theories,  once  honored,  now  forgotten  or  disgraced, 

''  Unburied  remain, 
Inglorious  on  the  plain," 

over  which  Medicine  has  marched  to  where  it  is.  I  bring  these 
things  before  you  because  they  should — as  with  enlightened 
men  of  course  they  theoretically  do — suggest  that  manly  open- 
ing of  the  mind  to  fresh  ideas,  that  ready  audience  to  novel 
thoughts,  which  do  not  always  practically  go  with  scientific 
eminence.  Hard  as  it  is  to  learn,  it  seems  still  harder  to 
unlearn ;  and  even  men  whose  intellectual  habits  verge  on 
rashness,  will  sometimes  shrink,  affrighted,  from  the  innova- 
tion which  assails  their  own  accepted  fallacies. 

I  remember  to  have  heard  an  admirable  lecture  delivered, 
on  the  opening  of  the  session  of  1833,  in  the  hall  of  your 
own  University,  by  Professor  Dunglison,  one  of  the  many 
eminent  and  world-known  men  who  have  adorned  its  annals. 
At  the  close  of  the  same  session  I  listened  to  the  address  pro- 
nounced, at  the  annual  commencement,  by  the  same  eloquent 
and  learned  gentleman.  They  were  both  printed,  and  I  have 


VALEDICTORY.  59 

preserved  them  both.  Their  genial  author,  I  rejoice  to  learn, 
still  lives,  but  in  the  list  of  the  graduating  class,  which  is 
attached  to  them,  among  names  now  known  and  honored  in 
your  profession,  I  see  those  of  many — some  of  them  my  per- 
sonal acquaintances — who  have  long  passed 

"To  where,  beyond  these  voices,  there  is  peace." 

The  period  which  has  intervened,  though  not  a  short  one  in 
the  life-time  of  a  man,  is  brief  indeed  in  the  annals  of  a  science; 
and  in  reviewing  those  scarcely  remembered  but  delightful 
papers,  I  could  not  help  smiling  at  the  fact  that  the  writer, 
versed  as  he  was  in  all  the  learning  of  his  day,  should  so  soon 
be  proved  to  have  illustrated,  in  them,  the  fulness  and  the 
vanity  of  science.  One  lecture  was  a  curious  record  of  the 
follies  and  superstitions  of  medical  history.  Contrasting 
with  them,  in  a  few  general  phrases,  the  wonders  of  the  new 
philosophy,  it  concluded  with  the  triumphant  question — can 
limits  be  set  to  the  intellect  of  man  ?  The  other,  filling  up 
the  outlines  of  the  first,  developed  at  some  length  the  leading 
discoveries  and  methods  by  which  modern  Medicine  was 
speeding  toward  its  destiny.  And  then,  as  if  to  check  the 
too  audacious  march  of  speculation,  the  lecturer  besought  his 
hearers  to  avoid  adopting,  as  "science  in  earnest,"  what  he 
called  the  "  vagaries  "  of  the  transcendental  anatomists,  whose 
eccentricities  he  styled  "  philosophy  in  sport."  Especially,  he 
warned  their  "  sober  minds  "  against  the  theories  of  the  great 
zoologist  Lamarck,  concerning  the  variations  of  organs  and 
of  species.  He  spoke  of  those  opinions  as  "  fantastic  and  in 
some  respects  revolting,"  and  wild  as  the  dreams  of  Monboddo 
and  Rousseau  !  To  those  who  are  familiar — and  what  edu- 


60  VALEDICTORY. 

cated  man  is  not  to  some  extent  acquainted  ? — with  what 
Darwin  writes,  and  more  than  half  the  scientific  world 
accepts,  as  to  the  origin  of  species  and  their  transmutation, 
how  strange  appears  to-day,  this  holy  horror  of  Lamarck's 
original,  bold  thought !  Not  strange,  because  it  shows  how 
theories  which  terrified  the  timid  good  and  wise,  glide  harm- 
lessly, at  last,  into  the  rudiments  of  science ;  but  strange, 
indeed,  as  showing  how  an  able  and  progressive  teacher, 
fresh  from  a  study  and  exposure  of  the  errors  and  failures 
of  the  past,  could  yet  be  blind  to  his  own  lessons,  and 
feel  and  think,  in  spite  of  them,  as  if  the  era  of  fallibility 
had  passed.  But  so  it  is  with  all  of  us.  We  fill  our 
lockers  with  the  charts  of  other  men's  shipwrecks,  and  yet 
are  stranded  in  shallows  of  our  own,  which  we  take  to  be 
the  bottom  of  the  sea. 

It  is  told  of  the  Caliph  Vathek,  that  when,  standing  on 
the  summit  of  his  magic  tower,  he  saw  the  mountains  far 
belowr,  like  little  shells,  and  the  cities  no  larger  than  bee- 
hives, at  his  feet,  he  wrould  straightway  have  adored  himself, 
had  he  not  beheld  the  planets  rolling  at  their  old  immeasura- 
ble height,  above  him.  He  was  a  seeker  after  knowledge 
only  that  it  might  feed  his  vanity;  and  his  craving  to  unveil 
the  Infinite  was  but  the  impious  lust  of  his  pride.  He  did 
not  therefore  sink  under  the  sense  of  his  own  littleness,  but 
rather  took  consolation  from  reflecting  that  at  least  the  men 
beneath  him  would  believe  him  great.  We  will  hope  that 
the  race  of  such  philosophers  has  departed  with  the  genii. 
Happily  for  you,  Gentlemen,  the  world  is  fast  ridding  itself 
of  the  stupendous  folly  which  so  long  proclaimed  divorce 
between  the  researches  of  science  and  the  worship  of  God. 


VALEDICTORY.  61 

It  was  indeed  a  strange,  irreverent  thought — no  matter  from 
what  honest  reverence  it  sprang — that  the  study  of  the  laws 
which  order  and  inform  the  works  of  the  Creator  could  stiffen 
the  knees  of  the  creatures  to  whose  wonder  it  disclosed  them. 
I  remember — it  was  but  a  little  while  ago — the  shock  which 
seemed  to  paralyze  the  public  sense,  when  his  theory  of  physi- 
cal development  was  promulgated  by  the  author  of  the  Vestiges 
of  Creation.  Devout,  wise  men  appeared  to  feel  that  it  assailed 
the  attributes  of  Providence,  to  seek  the  germ  of  all  the 
growth  and  changes  of  the  universe  in  one  great  seed,  that 
grew  and  fructified  until  it  filled  the  void  of  chaos.  But 
piety,  which  only  shuddered  at  the  outset,  began,  at  last,  to 
think,  and  thinking,  it  discovered  that  perhaps  the  theory 
which  traced  the  universal  plan,  through  all  the  ages,  back 
to  one  simple,  grand  expression  of  God's  will,  was  not  the 
meanest,  though  it  might  be  an  erroneous  conception  of  His 
wisdom  or  His  power.  Dread  not  in  your  profession,  then, 
I  pray  you,  to  doubt,  to  test,  to  scrutinize,  to  judge.  The 
honest,  manly  exercise  of  faculties  is  truest  gratitude  to  Him 
who  gave  them.  Responsibility  of  course  belongs  to  their 
misuse,  but  rests  as  heavily  on  him  who  will  not  or  who 
dares  not  use  them.  Truth  only  comes  from  seeking.  Being 
divine,  it  has  no  dread  of  questioning.  What  is  to  be,  must 
often  rise  upon  the  ruins  of  what  is;  and  reverence  but  plays 
the  part  of  superstition,  when  it  teaches  us  to  worship  false- 
hood rather  than  lay  rude  hands  upon  its  mask. 

Xo  one  knows  better,  Gentlemen,  than  I,  how  poorly  these 
mere  commonplaces  stand  instead  of  what  you  might  have 
heard  to-day.  Thrown  hastily  together,  in  M'eary  and  brief 
intervals  of  labor,  they  scarcely  half  express  even  my  cordial, 


62  VALEDICTORY. 

earnest  wishes  for  your  welfare.  Should  they  but  lead  you — 
higher  thoughts  apart — to  estimate  the  real  value,  in  the  toil- 
some life  before  you,  of  manly  self-respect  and  mental  integrity 
and  independence,  you  will  not  think  so  ill,  I  hope,  hereafter, 
of  their  simple  homely  counsels. 

And  now  I  bid  you,  in  the  name  of  these  your  friends  and 
teachers,  a  welcome  to  the  noble  duties  you  have  undertaken, 
and  a  God-speed  in  your  efforts  to  discharge  them.  They 
could  not  speak  to  you,  as  I  can,  of  the  bright  example  they 
have  set  you,  nor  call  on  you  to  win  the  honors  they  have 
won.  But  cherishing,  as  you  will  cherish,  the  Alma  Mater 
with  whose  laurels  you  are  crowned ;  loving  her  fame  as  part 
of  yours,  and  adding  yours  in  turn  to  hers ;  you  will  not 
soon  forget,  I  am  persuaded,  the  honored,  kindly  hands  whose 
impulse  sends  you  forth.  Life  is  not  always  like  a  Roman 
city,  to  reach  whose  gates  the  traveller  passed  through  a  street 
of  tombs;  nay,  to  be  local  in  our  similes,  it  is  not  even  like 
our  Druid  Hill,  where  we  must  seek  the  fountains  and  the 
pleasure-houses  far  down  a  ghastly  avenue  of  urns.  As  you 
begin  its  journey  joyously — think  gladly  also,  sometimes,  of 
the  friends  who  cheer  you  on  your  way. 


DISCOURSE 

ON     T  II  E 

LIFE  AND  CHARACTER 

OF 

GEORGE    P 


DELIVERED    I  N 


THE  HALL  OF  THE  PEABODY  INSTITUTE, 

Baltimore,  February  18,  1870, 

AND  REPEATED,  FEBRUARY  25TH,  BEFORE  THE 

SENATE  AND  HOUSE  OF  DELEGATES  OF  MARYLAND, 

ON   THEIR   INVITATION. 


GEORGE  PEABODY. 


ON  the  12th  of  February,  thirteen  years  ago,  the  Founder 
of  this  Institute  committed  to  the  hands  of  his  selected 
agents  the  noble  gift,  which,  under  his  accumulating  bounty, 
has  since  swollen  to  more  than  four  times  its  original  amount. 
Upon  the  same  day,  year  after  year,  the  Trustees  whom  he  so 
honored  have  been  wont  to  render  him  an  account  of  their 
stewardship,  and  renew  to  him  the  expression  of  their  reverent 
affection  and  gratitude.  Some  months  after  our  last  annual 
address  to  him,  we  shared  with  our  fellow-citizens  the  pleasure 
of  seeing  him  again  among  us  in  person,  full,  not  only  of 
increasing  sympathy  with  the  purposes  of  this  Foundation, 
but  of  abounding  munificence  to  serve  them.  Although  the 
hand  of  disease  was  then  heavy  upon  him,  there  was,  we 
thought,  reason  for  the  hope  that  he  might  be  spared  for 
many  years,  to  see  the  growth  of  the  good  seed  which  he  had 
planted  in  so  many  places.  We  especially  looked  forward  to 
the  return  of  our  anniversary,  that  we  might  testify,  by  some 
public  and  appropriate  recognition,  our  sense  of  his  untiring 
bounty  and  his  cordial  personal  confidence  and  kindness. 
But — blessed  as  his  work  on  earth  was,  it  had  been  accom- 
plished, and  a  higher  reward  was  near  him  than  even  an  old 
9  65 


66  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

age,  beloved  of  God  and  man.  We  shall  never  look  upon 
his  kindly  face  again,  nor  shall  his  lips  speak  charity  and 
wisdom,  any  more,  to  us.  The  thousands  of  little  children 
who  were  gathered  round  him,  as  about  a  father's  knees,  when 
he  graced  the  dedication  of  this  building  with  his  presence, 
will  tell  to  their  own  children  how  the  eyes  of  the  good 
man  filled  and  his  kind  voice  faltered,  as  he  uttered  the  last 
touching  and  tender  words  of  counsel,  which  were  among  his 
worthiest  gifts  to  them.  But  his  venerable  form  they  must 
remember,  now,  among  the  pleasant  visions  of  childhood, 
which  fleeted  away  too  soon.  He  is  of  the  past,  to  them  as 
to  us;  and  though  public  sorrow  and  private  affection  may 
mourn  over  his  departure,  there  is  surely  no  one  to  repine  at 
the  thought,  that  he  has  passed  over  the  great  gulf,  fixed,  of 
old  time,  between  the  rich  man  and  Abraham's  bosom. 

I  am  here,  upon  the  invitation  of  my  associates  in  the 
Trust  which  Mr.  Peabody  created  in  Baltimore,  to  say  some- 
thing of  his  life  and  character.  We  had  selected,  as  an  appro- 
priate occasion,  the  anniversary  to  which  I  have  alluded.  The 
change  which  brings  us  together  to-day,  instead,  not  only 
gives  us  the  pleasure  of  welcoming  friends  and  co-laborers 
from  a  distance,  who  could  not  otherwise  have  joined  us  in 
these  offices,  but  enables  us,  "  with  double  pomp  of  sadness," 
on  the  birth-day  of  our  Founder,  to  lay  our  tribute  on  his 
tomb.  I  regret,  unaffectedly,  that  the  duty  which  has  been 
assigned  to  me  was  not  committed,  as  I  wished,  to  other  hands, 
for  there  are  those  among  my  brethren,  far  better  fitted  to 
perform  it,  whose  age  and  long  and  intimate  acquaintance 
with  Mr.  Peabody  would  have  given  to  eulogy  the  weight 
and  the  force  of  personal  knowledge  and  testimony.  Except, 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  67 

however,  as  an  expression  of  our  own  and  the  public  fooling 
and  the  doing  of  a  duty  as  well  as  a  labor  of  love,  it  would 
seem  almost  idle  for  the  best  of  us  to  say  a  word  at  this 
moment.  The  press  of  the  civilized  world  has  already 
exhausted  on  the  subject  all  the  acuteness  of  analysis  and 
all  the  fulness  of  appreciation  and  sympathy.  Eloquence 
has  poured  out  upon  it  the  whole  wealth  of  pathos  and 
illustration.  Even  governments  have  found  heart  in  it  for 
tenderness  and  reverence,  and 

"  Nations  swell  the  funeral  cry." 

In  the  annals  of  our  race,  there  is  no  record  of  funeral 
honors,  to  an  uncrowned  man,  such  as  have  been  rendered 
to  George  Peabody.  The  story  which  comes  nearest  to  what 
we  have  beheld,  is  told  by  the  grandest  historian  of  Rome 
and  is  lighted  by  the  finest  touches  of  his  genius.  It  follows 
the  widow  of  Germanicus  across  the  wintry  seas,  as  she 
bore,  from  Antioch  to  Rome,  the  ashes  of  her  hero.  We 
can  almost  see  the  people  crowding  to  the  walls  and  house- 
tops, and  thronging  the  sea-coast,  as  with  slow  oars  the  silent 
galleys  came.  The  voice  of  lamentation  seems  to  echo  round 
us,  as  it  rose  from  all  the  multitude,  when  Agrippina  landed 
with  her  precious  burden,  and  her  sobbing  children  followed. 
The  urn  is  borne  to  the  Imperial  City  on  the  shoulders  of 
centurions  and  tribunes.  Crowds  hasten  from  afar  and  weep, 
in  mourning  garments,  by  the  road-sides.  Funereal  altars 
smoke  with  victims  as  the  sad  array  goes  by,  and  spices  and 
perfumes  and  costly  raiment  are  flung  into  the  flames  as 
offerings.  The  City  streets — now  still  as  death,  now  loud 
with  bursting  sorrow — are  thronged  with  Rome's  whole  peo- 


68  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

pie,  and  when,  at  last,  the  ashes  are  at  rest  in  the  Augustan 
Mausoleum,  a  wail  goes  up,  such  as  before  had  never  swept 
along  those  marble  ways.  The  tale  which  Tacitus  has  told 
us  of  these  splendid  obsequies,  comes  to  us,  with  redoubled 
grandeur,  through  "  the  corridors  of  time,"  and  yet  its  inci- 
dents are  almost  tame  to  what  ourselves  have  witnessed. 
The  stately  ship  which  bore,  across  the  waves,  the  corpse  of 
him  we  honor,  is  a  marvel  that  Rome  never  dreamed  of — the 
proudest  convoy  that  ever  guarded  human  ashes.  The  ocean 
which  she  traversed  is  an  empire,  over  which  the  eagles  of 
Germanicus  knew  no  dominion.  The  mighty  engines  and 
instruments  of  war  which  welcomed  her,  were  far  beyond 
the  prophecy  of  oracle  or  thought  of  Sibyl.  Beside  the 
unseen  power  which  dragged  the  funeral-car  and  cleft  the 
waters  with  its  burden,  in  mastery  of  the  winds,  the  might 
of  legions  is  simple  insignificance,  and  it  seems  like  trifling 
to  tell  of  galleys,  centurions  and  tribunes.  Nor  is  there,  in 
the  mourning  of  the  populace  of  Rome  over  one  of  its 
broken  idols,  a  type  even  of  the  noble  sorrow  which  has 
united  men  of  all  nations  and  opinions  in  their  tribute  to 
our  lamented  dead.  And  who  shall  speak  of  Heathen  tem- 
ple or  Imperial  tomb,  in  the  same  breath  with  the  great 
Abbey  Minster,  where  he  slept  awhile  amid  the  monuments 
and  memories  of  statesmen  and  warriors,  philosophers  and 
poets,  philanthropists  and  kings — where  more  of  the  dust  of 
what  was  genius  and  greatness  is  gathered,  than  ever  lay 
under  roof  or  stone?  There  is  something  which  almost 
bewilders  the  imagination,  in  the  thought,  that  on  the  day 
and  at  the  hour  when  our  own  bells  were  tolling  his  death- 
knell  and  people  stopped  to  listen,  in  the  streets,  the  requiem 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  69 

of  the  Danvers  boy  was  pealing  through  aisle  and  cloister, 
thousands  of  miles  away,  where  funeral  song  had  rung  and 
censers  smoked,  whole  centuries  before  men  knew  the  Conti- 
nent which  was  his  birthplace.  It  seems  as  if  the  dirge  of 
to-day  were  a  reverberation  from  the  ages.  And  when  we 
reflect  how  simple  the  career  was,  which  closed  amid  all  these 
honors;  how  little  their  subject  had  to  do  witli  the  things 
which  commonly  stir  men's  bosoms  and  win  the  shouts  of 
wonder  and  applause,  in  life  or  after  it ;  that  he  was  not 
great,  as  men  judge  greatness;  that  every  badge  and  trophy 
of  his  exceeding  triumph  was  won  by  an  unconscious  and  an 
unstained  hand :  I  confess  it  seems  to  me  that  the  grand,  spon- 
taneous tributes  which  have  been  paid  to  him,  have  beggared 
the  resources,  while  they  have  filled  the  measure,  of  panegyric. 
We  are  not  required  to  forget,  nor  do  we  disparage  the 
living  or  the  dead  by  remembering,  that  something  of  this 
may  be  due  to  the  peculiar  relations  existing,  at  the  moment, 
between  the  countries  which  divided  Mr.  Peabody's  bounty 
and  affections.  A  becoming  spirit  of  manly  conciliation,  on 
the  one  side,  and  an  equally  becoming  temper  and  pride  of 
nationality,  upon  the  other,  have  no  doubt  had  their  share 
in  these  unprecedented  demonstrations.  But  there  is  noth- 
ing in  this  which  detracts  from  the  sincerity  or  impairs 
the  significance  of  the  homage  that  either  has  rendered.  It 
is  a  new  epoch  in  the  history  of  governments,  when  the  cavils 
of  diplomacy  and  the  mutterings  of  discord  are  hushed,  even 
for  an  hour,  by  the  spell  of  a  good  man's  memory ;  and  it 
were  folly  to  dispute  his  place  among  his  kind,  whose  death 
so  touched  the  hearts  of  two  great  nations,  that  either  could 
call  unto  the  other  to  join  hands  with  it  across  his  grave. 


70  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

But  while  these  things,  as  I  have  said,  appear  to  render 
eulogv  idle,  they  are  equally  potent,  in  making  just  apprecia- 
tion difficult.  Through  so  much  that  dazzles,  it  is  not  easy 
to  look,  steadily  and  calmly,  at  the  simple  life  and  story 
which  had  so  bright  an  ending.  The  quiet,  systematic 
habits,  the  delving  industry,  the  thrifty  shrewdness  and 
world-wisdom,  the  unsentimental  benevolence,  of  the  plain, 
practical  merchant  and  banker  who  walked  among  us,  like 
others  in  his  calling,  are  hard  to  deal  with,  fairly,  at  this 
epic  stage  of  his  renown.  It  seems  like  belittling  the  subject 
to  consider  it  in  the  mere  light  of  its  realities.  Indeed  it 
requires  an  effort,  at  such  a  time,  for  the  coldest  thinker  to 
divest  himself  of  that  enthusiasm  whose  natural  expression 
is  extravagance ;  and  nothing  but  a  sense  of  the  great  wrong 
which  exaggeration  would  do  to  a  memory  so  far  above  it, 
could  persuade  a  man  of  ordinary  impulse  that  it  is  proper  to 
moderate  his  words.  Nor  is  it  only  the  contagion  of  the  hour 
of  homage  which  it  is  difficult  to  escape.  There  is  something 
splendid  and  attractive  in  generosity,  in  all  its  forms ;  and 
when  its  scope  embraces  the  larger  needs  of  humanity,  and 
its  resources  are  almost  as  ample  as  its  scope,  it  carries  feeling 
and  imagination  away  captive.  We  surround  the  life  and  the 
memory  of  the  "cheerful  giver"  with  a  halo  such  as  glitters 
only  around  consecrated  heads.  The  wonder  of  the  crowd  is 
almost  worship ;  and  men  deem  it  half  a  sacrilege  to  seek,  in 
merely  human  qualities,  "  the  conjuration  and  the  mighty 
magic  "  which  seem  so  far  beyond  humanity.  And  yet,  to  do 
this  only  is  our  duty  here  to-day.  We  have  come  to  recog- 
nize and  study,  in  the  common  light,  the  traits  of  the  man 
and  citizen,  George  Peabody ;  to  consider  and  teach,  if  we 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  71 

can,  the  moral  of  his  simple,  unheroic  life.  We  are  to  look 
at  him,  as  he  moved  and  had  his  daily  being, — as  if  his 
features  did  not  live  in  bronze  and  no  minute-gun  had  ever 
told  his  burial  to  the  sea.  Nay,  it  is  our  business  to  take 
from  the  record  of  his  career  all  that  tends  to  impair  and 
falsify  its  lesson,  by  making  men  despair  of  rising  to  his 
level.  Here,  above  all  other  places ;  with  the  sound  of  his 
own  sturdy  teachings  scarce  dull  upon  our  ears;  with  his 
simplicity  and  modesty — his  good  fellowship  and  plain  deal- 
ing— fresh  in  our  remembrance  and  affection ;  with  all  things 
round  about  us  full  of  what  he  was  and  of  all  he  claimed  or 
cared  to  be ;  we  should  insult  his  memory  by  attempting  to 
add  an  inch  to  his  stature.  And  indeed  there  is  small  need 
of  fancy  in  dealing  with  his  story,  for  scarce  anything  in 
fiction  is  more  strange  than  the  actual  prose  of  it.  The 
child  of  poor  parents  and  humble  hopes — a  grocer's  boy  at 
eleven,  the  assistant  of  a  country  shop-keeper  at  sixteen — he 
had  reached  but  middle-life  when  he  was  able  so  to  deal 
with  the  resources  of  the  great  money -centre  of  the  world, 
as  to  prop,  with  his  integrity  and  credit,  the  financial  deca- 
dence of  whole  commonwealths.  Pausing  even  at  that  point 
of  his  career — a  period  to  which  in  Maryland  our  gratitude 
so  frequently  recurs — is  it  not  more  wonderful  than  the 
legend  which  delighted  our  childhood,  the  tale  of  Whit- 
tington,  citizen  and  mercer,  thrice  Lord  Mayor  of  London? 
Was  it  not  quite  as  easy,  beforehand,  for  our  stripling  to 
imagine  that  he  heard,  across  the  waters,  an  invitation  from 
Bow  Bells  to  him,  as  to  conceive  that  his  statue  would  be 
raised  in  London  streets  while  yet  he  lived,  and  be  unveiled, 
with  words  of  reverence  and  honor,  by  the  heir-apparent  of 


72  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

that  mighty  empire,  surrounded  by  its  best  and  noblest? 
Add  to  this  what  I  have  before  described,  and  it  seems  as  if 
another  night  had  been  added  to  the  Thousand  and  One. 

But,  as  I  have  said,  our  business  is  not  with  the  wonders. 
It  is  with  the  mind,  the  heart,  the  will,  the  character  which 
wrought  them.  These  were  the  only  genii  of  this  story. 
They,  and  they  only,  did  what  was  done,  and  neither  ring 
nor  lamp  had  any  part  in  it.  "  No  man,"  Carlyle  tells  us, 
"  becomes  a  saint  in  his  sleep; "  and  there  is  no  greater  fallacy 
than  the  popular  notion  which  so  often  attributes  success, 
in  great  things,  to  luck.  There  are  people,  it  is  true,  who 
stumble  into  prosperity  and  get  place  and  power,  by  what, 
to  mortal  eye,  seems  chance.  Reputation  and  the  honors  and 
profits  which  follow  it  are  now  and  then  wafted  to  a  man, 
like  thistle-down,  for  no  better  visible  reason  than  that  he 
happens  to  be  out  in  the  same  wind  with  them.  The  crowd 
attach  themselves  often,  and  cling  with  devotion,  to  some 
singularly  favored  person,  as  burrs  do  to  his  clothing,  simply, 
as  it  would  appear,  because  he  walks  among  them.  But  what 
seems  does  not  necessarily  represent  what  is;  and  a  man  must 
be  hard  to  convince,  if,  after  having  used  a  microscope  once, 
he  be  not  satisfied  for  life,  that  things  exist  and  are  com- 
prehensible though  he  may  neither  see  nor  understand  them 
himself.  What  therefore  may  appear  to  be  exceptions  to  the 
general  truth,  that  great  results  do  not  spring  from  insufficient 
causes,  are  commonly  found  to  be  strictly  within  it.  In  the 
course  of  any  long  life-time,  the  logic  of  cause  and  effect  is 
apt  to  vindicate  itself.  In  this  busy,  stirring,  jostling,  inter- 
ested modern  society  of  ours,  where  scarcely  any  one  occupies 
a  pedestal — or  even  an  humbler  place — but  some  one  else  goes 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  73 

anxiously  to  work  to  dislodge  him  and  get  there  in  his  stead, 
we  seldom  find  respect  or  deference,  love  or  admiration,  long 
yielded  to  a  brother,  unless  there  be  that  in  him  which  com- 
mands them.  The  world  may  dally  with  its  impostors  and 
its  charlatans — its  trumpery  great  men,  sham  heroes  and  mock 
saints  and  sages — for  a  little  while,  but  they  finally  go  down, 
for  the  most  part,  into  the  receptacle — the  huge  Noah's  Ark — 
of  its  spurned  and  worthless  playthings.  The  winds  of  time 
and  contest  blow  away  the  chaff,  at  last,  from  the  great  grain- 
floor  of  humanity — a  blessed  fact,  by  the  by,  which  reconciles 
us  to  many  tempests.  Hemisphere  does  not  cry  aloud  to 
hemisphere  about  common  people.  Nations  do  not  mourn 
over  men  who  deserve  no  tears.  There  was  then  something 
in  George  Peabody,  or  about  him,  that  called  for  the  homage 
which  has  been  rendered  him.  What  was  it? 

Not  his  intellect,  certainly — for  neither  in  capacity  nor 
cultivation  was  he  above  the  grade  of  thousands  of  clever 
men,  both  here  and  in  England,  in  his  own  and  kindred 
callings.  He  had  not  genius  to  dazzle,  or  invention  to  create. 
He  had  made  no  discovery  in  science,  or  even  in  finance.  He 
knew  little  of  art,  and  had  contributed  nothing  to  the  stock 
of  what  is  denominated  "  human  knowledge."  Statesman  he 
was  not — nay,  not  even  politician.  He  had  never  worn  spur 
on  battle-field :  had  never  filled  office,  or  wielded  power,  or 
sought  to  be  any  man's  master  but  his  own.  There  was  not, 
I  repeat,  a  single  element  in  him  or  circumstance  in  his  career, 
of  those  which  enter  into  the  common  estimate  of  greatness. 
Neither  did  riches  win  his  name  for  him.  He  was  no 
monopolist,  no  miracle,  of  wealth  :  for  enormous  private  for- 
tunes are  now  constantly  acquired,  in  half  such  a  life-time  as 
10 


74  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

his,  and  the  great  marts  of  the  world  have  men  far  richer 
than  he,  whose  accumulations  have  been  gathered  just  as 
honestly,  just  as  fortunately,  and  with  quite  as  much  sagacity 
as  his.  Nor  does  he  stand  alone  in  the  appropriation  of  large 
means  to  the  good  of  mankind.  The  number  of  rich  men 
whose  testaments  dispense  the  hoards  of  a  life-time  in  works 
of  usefulness,  is  very  large.  The  past  has  left  us  many  well- 
known  and  abiding  monuments  of  such  beneficence.  True, 
there  is  a  smack  of  death-bed  repentance,  as  well  as  bounty, 
in  these  gifts ;  a  confession,  at  best,  of  intentions  good  but 
reluctant  and  long  smothered  by  human  infirmity.  We  cannot 
help  feeling  that  they  sometimes  are  very  much,  in  kind  and 
motive,  like  the  obolus  which  used  to  be  placed  between  the  lips 
of  the  dead,  to  pay  for  their  safe  ferrying  across  the  infernal 
waters.  But  still,  they  clothe  the  naked,  feed  the  hungry, 
comfort  the  sick,  educate  the  poor — relieve,  in  all  sorts  of 
ways,  the  necessities  and  afflictions  of  humanity — and  those 
who  dispense  them  deserve  well  of  their  race.  Though  the 
good  works  which  "  blossom  in  their  dust,"  might  have 
yielded  more  fragrance  under  the  culture  of  their  hands, 
they  are  good  works  notwithstanding,  and  should  be  remem- 
bered with  charity  not  less  than  gratitude — as  they  commonly 
are.  But  the  liberality  of  rich  men  is  not  always  posthumous; 
and  in  the  mere  fact  of  giving  and  giving  largely,  in  his  life- 
time, Mr.  Peabody  was  by  no  means  singular.  The  world  is 
full,  I  was  going  to  say — though  that  perhaps  is  stating  the 
case  too  strongly — of  people  who  habitually  give.  They  cer- 
tainly are  no  rarity  in  it.  Most  of  us  give  freely,  to  those 
we  love — to  our  own  flesh  and  blood,  at  all  events.  They 
who  do  not,  belong,  I  think,  to  the  class  whom  Burns  charac- 


GEORGE  PEA  BODY.  75 

terizes  as,  "  the  real  hardened  wicked,"  and  it  is  wholesome  to 
persuade  ourselves  that  they  are  likewise  "  to  a  few  restrieked." 
When  Thackeray  says,  somewhere,  that  he  never  saw  a  fine 
boy,  but  he  felt  like  giving  him  a  guinea,  he  does  not,  I  am 
sure,  exaggerate  the  natural  impulse  of  every  healthy  and 
manly  heart.  There  are  many  to  whom  this  sort  of  impulse 
is  a  general,  spontaneous,  and  often  fatal  rule  of  life.  Some 
indeed — and  a  large  class — give  because  they  cannot  help  it. 
Giving,  with  them,  is  almost  a  pleasure  of  sense.  It  is  the 
natural  expression  of  a  feeling,  as  weeping  and  sighing  are 
with  others.  It  is  at  once  the  voice  and  the  tear  of  their 
sympathy.  The  heart  sends  its  quickened  pulsation  directly 
to  the  hand,  which  only  fetters  could  keep  from  the  purse- 
strings.  And  this,  too  frequently,  without  check  of  prudence, 
or  choice  of  object,  or  thought  of  to-morrow.  We  are  apt 
to  admire  and  indeed  to  love  these  people ;  for,  to  the  com- 
mon apprehension,  the  pleasure  and  advantage  of  keeping 
money  are  so  striking,  that  to  part  with  it,  freely,  passes  for 
a  sacrifice.  And  yet,  obviously,  they  may  be  just  as  self- 
indulgent,  in  their  way,  as  their  next-door  neighbor,  whose 
heart  is  always  in  his  burglar-proof  safe  and  his  hand  never, 
except  to  increase  or  count  his  store.  It  may  be  their  pleasure 
to  scatter,  as  it  is  his  to  save;  and  they  may  consult  noth- 
ing better  than  their  pleasure,  as  he  pursues  nothing  better 
than  his.  Sir  Thomas  Browne  calls  their's  "  but  moral 
charity,  and  an  act  that  oweth  more  to  passion  than  reason." 
And  he  adds,  in  the  same  strain,  that  "He  who  relieves 
another,  upon  the  bare  suggestion  and  bowels  of  pity,  doth 
not  this  so  much  for  his  sake,  as  for  his  own ;  for  by  compas- 
sion we  make  other's  misery  our  own,  and  so  by  relieving 


76  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

them  we  relieve  ourselves  also."  Happily,  the  common  heart 
is  not  quite  so  ingenious  or  so  analytical  as  this;  but  contents 
itself  with  feeling,  that  though  the  bountiful  and  the  miser 
may  be  selfish,  in  their  several  ways,  the  one  selfishness  is  still 
a  better  thing  than  the  other.  Indeed  there  is  almost  always 
something,  in  these  heedless  natures,  which  redeems  the  sin  of 
their  improvidence  and  self-indulgence ;  and  although,  when 
waste  makes  want,  they  have  often  to  eat  husks  in  sorrow, 
and  wait  on  those  who  are  to  them  but  swine,  we  cannot  help 
thinking,  sometimes,  that  they  belong  to  that  class  of  prodigals 
for  whom  a  fatted  calf  will  be  killed,  one  day,  when  they 
will  eat  and  drink,  and  be  as  merry  as  the  hundreds  they 
have  fed  in  their  time.  To  this  kind  of  givers,  our  experience 
must  add  that  other  and  familiar  class,  who  part  with  money 
readily,  because  they  are  incapacitated,  by  nature,  from  feeling 
its  value.  I  say  feeling — because  the  processes  of  the  heart 
are  so  much  quicker  than  those  of  the  head,  that  it  profits  a 
man  very  little,  in  these  matters,  only  to  understand  and 
know.  The  battle  is  generally  lost,  in  such  case,  before  the 
reserves  come  up.  But  how  many  people,  especially  women, 
are  we  not  acquainted  with — every  one  of  us  here, — whose 
whole  existence  is  a  mission  of  beneficence ;  who  know  and 
feel  the  worth  of  money,  and  yet  spend  it  on  others  without 
stint ;  with  whom  the  poor,  as  Beranger  has  it,  are  harvesters* 
not  gleaners ;  whose  hands  are  as  open  as  the  prodigal's  and 
yet  never  waste;  in  whom  the  love  of  giving  is  so  chastened 
by  the  love  of  the  Great  Giver,  that  they  dispense  their 
bounty  as  His  alms,  and  make  of  charity  a  very  worship? 
These  however  are  the  silent  and  humble  Samaritans  of  the 
highways  and  by-ways,  who,  for  the  most  part,  are  only  fol- 


GEORGE  PEA  BODY.  77 

lowed  by  individual  gratitude  or  personal  affection.  They  do 
not  amass  fortunes,  or  make  testaments,  or  have  statues  erected 
to  them.  The  great  world  knows  little  about  them  and,  as  a 
whole,  cares  little;  for  though  they  are  no  trifling  element  in 
its  economy,  they  seem  so,  to  the  thoughtless,  in  the  broad 
scope  of  an  economy  so  large. 

If  I  am  right  then  in  supposing  that  the  secret  of  Mr. 
Peabody's  fame  is  not  to  be  found  in  the  mere  fact  of  his 
having  given,  and  given  freely,  in  his  life-time,  to  good 
objects,  where  else  are  we  to  look  for  it?  Not,  surely,  in  the 
magnitude  of  his  benefactions.  It  were  shame  to  judge  him 
by  a  standard  so  vulgar  and  unworthy.  It  would  not  only 
be  to  scandalize  his  memory,  but  to  throw  away  the  whole 
moral  and  lesson  of  his  life.  The  homage  which  is  rendered 
to  the  givers  of  great  gifts,  merely  because  their  gifts  are 
great,  is  but  parcel  of  that  deification  and  worship  of  wealth, 
which  is  the  opprobrium  of  our  times.  When  this  comes  in  the 
shape  of  a  tribute  to  the  dead,  it  is,  of  course,  comparatively 
free  from  the  personal  servility,  the  self-abasing  deference,  the 
mean  genuflections,  which  pay  court  to  the  living  rich.  But 
it  is  the  same  ignoble  thing,  in  its  motive  and  essence,  though 
the  sables  be  wrapped  around  it,  and  what  men  knelt  to  before 
may  have  become  as  the  dust  in  which  they  knelt.  And  just 
as  royalty  succeeding  is  studious  and  exigent  of  pomp  and 
splendor,  in  the  obsequies  of  royalty  dead,  so,  and  for  the 
same  reason,  wealth  surviving  exaggerates  the  dignity  of 
wealth  departed ;  and  those  who  adore  and  would  propitiate 
the  one,  crowd  to  canonize  and  glorify  the  other.  To  deal  in 
such  a  spirit  with  the  man  whose  birth-day  we  commemorate, 
would  be  to  degrade  ourselves  and  crush  him,  basely,  like 


78  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

Tarpeia,  with  the  weight  of  his  own  gold.  It  is  the  very- 
fact  that  a  million  more  or  a  million  less  would  have  counted 
but  as  a  farthing,  either  way,  in  the  just  estimate  of  his  pur- 
poses and  character,  which  makes  the  rare  nobility  and  worth 
of  his  example.  Without  the  millions  we  might  perhaps 
have  had  less  of  the  pageant,  but  we  should  have  had  none 
the  less  of  the  man.  Eleven  years  ago,  it  came  within  the 
province  of  the  present  speaker,  on  a  public  and  interesting 
occasion,  to  illustrate  the  theme  before  him  by  an  allusion  to 
Mr.  Peabody,  who  had  then  taken  but  the  earliest  steps  in  the 
career  of  his  open  beneficence.  You  will  pardon,  I  hope,  the 
repetition  of  what  was  then  said,  because  it  puts  in  a  few 
words  precisely  the  idea  which  I  desire,  at  this  moment,  to 
express ;  and  having  been  written  in  advance  of  the  later  and 
more  famous  charities  of  our  Founder,  it  will  show  that  those 
who  knew  and  respected  him,  then,  esteemed  the  source  from 
which  his  good  deeds  sprang,  far  more  for  itself  than  for  its 
fruits.  The  language  then  used,  was  the  following  : 

"  When  I  see  a  man  like  George  Peabody — a  man  of  plain 
intellect  and  moderate  education — who  is  willing  to  take  away 
from  the  acquisitions  of  successful  trade,  what  would  make 
the  fortunes  of  a  hundred  men  of  reasonable  desires,  and 
dedicate  it  to  the  advancement  of  knowledge  and  the  cultiva- 
tion of  refining  and  liberal  pursuits  and  tastes,  among  a 
people  with  whom  he  has  ceased  to  dwell,  except  in  the  recol- 
lections of  early  industry  and  struggle — I  recognize  a  spirit 
which  tends  to  make  men  satisfied  with  the  inequalities  of 
fortune — which  is  alive  to  the  true  ends  and  purposes  of 
labor — which  gives  as  well  as  takes — which  sees,  in  the  very 
trophies  of  success,  the  high  incumbent  duties  and  the  noble 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  70 

pleasure  of  a  stewardship  for  others.  And  yet,  one  such 
man — in  himself — in  his  life  and  the  example  which  it  gives — 
is  worth  tenfold  more  to  a  community,  than  all  the  beneficence 
of  which  his  heart  may  make  him  prodigal." 

Feeling  and  believing  this,  I  should  be  false  to  my  own 
conception  of  the  honorable  duty  assigned  to  me,  if  I  did  not 
protest  against  regarding  what  is  called  the  "  princelincss  "  of 
Mr.  Peabody's  munificence,  as  other  than  an  element  entirely 
subordinate,  in  any  just  and  manly  appreciation  of  his  charac- 
ter. And  indeed,  after  all,  I  must  own  that  the  large  bounty 
of  ordinary  rich  men  does  not  impress  me,  always,  as  it  seems 
to  strike  many  others.  Liberality  is  a  relative  thing;  and, 
obviously,  what  is  generous  and  whole-souled  in  one  person, 
viewed  in  its  relation  to  his  means  and  his  own  wants,  may, 
in  the  same  relation,  be  niggardly  or  narrow  in  another.  The 
good  that  giving  does  may  be  the  test  of  its  value,  but  certainly 
is  not  of  its  merit.  That  is  best  determined,  humanly  speak- 
ing, by  what  it  costs  the  giver  to  give.  I  do  not  mean  what  it 
ought  not  to  cost — the  agony  which  miserly  reluctance  suffers, 
in  parting  with  a  fragment  of  its  hoard,  under  the  torture  of 
entreaty  or  the  dread  of  shame  or  death  ;  but  that  cheerful, 
conscious  and  deliberate  self-sacrifice,  which  renders  the  mite 
of  the  widow  more  precious,  a  thousand  fold,  than  the  gold 
and  frankincense  and  myrrh  of  the  Magi.  I  speak  of  self- 
sacrifice,  for  (with  a  single  and  melancholy  qualification  which 
I  shall  presently  consider)  it  is  hard  to  understand  how  there 
can  be  much  merit  in  the  simple  act  of  giving  to  others  what 
we  do  not  ourselves  need.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  difficult  to 
conceive  what  greater  pleasure  a  rich  man  could  possibly  have 
in  his  wealth,  than  that  of  pouring  out  its  superabundance  in 


80  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

works  of  kindliness  and  charity.  It  is  not  meant  by  this  to 
set  up  a  very  high  standard.  I  am  not  talking  of  disciples, 
who  are  to  part  with  all  that  they  possess  and  follow  their 
Master.  It  is  not  a  question  of  surrendering  one  single  rea- 
sonable, or  even  luxurious,  personal  gratification.  I  speak 
of  superabundance  merely — of  that  which  is  over  and  above 
what  the  owner,  in  any  reasonable  way,  can  expend  upon 
himself,  his  comforts,  his  tastes,  his  luxuries,  nay,  if  you 
please,  the  vices  of  his  station.  But — all  these  things  reserved 
and  cared  for — and  treating  the  disposition  of  the  surplus  as 
a  selfish  gratification  merely,  and  as  nothing  higher  or  better, 
it  seems,  I  repeat,  incomprehensible  to  a  genial — I  need  not 
say  a  generous — nature,  that  a  man  can  possibly  get  greater 
happiness  out  of  it  than  must  come  from  dispensing  it  in 
kindness.  Gonzalo  De  Cordova,  of  Spain,  the  Great  Captain, 
was  one  of  those  who  held  this  faith.  "Never  stint  your 
hand" — he  said  to  his  steward — "there  is  no  mode  of  enjoying 
one's  property  like  giving  it  away."  It  is  true  the  illustrious 
soldier  may  have  occasionally  treated  as  his  property  what 
did  not  precisely  belong  to  him  ;  but  his  preaching  was  none 
the  worse  for  this,  because  his  practice  with  his  own  came 
nobly  up  to  it.  Going  a  little  more  deeply  too  into  the  vanities 
as  well  as  the  virtues  which  this  discussion  involves,  Lord 
Lyttou  says,  with  great  point,  in  one  of  his  more  serious 
works,  that  "  Charity  is  a  feeling  dear  to  the  pride  of  the 
human  heart.  It  is  an  aristocratic  emotion  .  .  .  the  easiest 
virtue  to  practice."  There  is  no  doubt  that  in  the  sense  in 
which  he  speaks  of  charity,  the  observation  is  as  just  as  it  is 
clever.  If  a  rich  man  covets  respect  and  influence ;  if  he 
desires  to  attract  sympathy  and  hear  himself  praised ;  to  be 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  81 

looked  up  to,  flattered,  followed  and  caressed  in  life,  and  have 
an  epitaph,  after  it,  like  a  player's  good  report — deserving 
none  of  these  things,  the  while — there  is  no  cheaper  or  more 
certain  means  of  securing  them  all,  than  a  few  judicious  invest- 
ments of  his  abundance  in  what  ought  to  be  charity.  When  he 
purchases,  at  the  same  time,  by  the  same  outlay,  the  pleasure 
of  doing  good  and  the  incense  of  gratitude,  one  cannot  feel 
that  the  cross  which  he  has  taken  up  is  a  very  heavy  one, 
or  that  he  walks  upon  celestial  heights  above  the  hearts  of 
common  men. 

If  I  am  right  then,  in  assuming  that  the  lesson  of  our 
Founder's  life  lies  not  in  that  he  gave,  or  gave  before  he  died, 
or  gave  superbly — nor,  indeed  in  all  these  things  combined— 
what  is  there  left  that  teaches  it  ?  We  must  turn  back  upon 
the  life  itself,  to  give  us  answer. 

Mr.  Peabody  was  not  a  man  of  gushing  sensibilities,  nor 
did  he  belong,  in  any  sense,  to  that  class  who  are  free  with 
money  because  they  do  not  know  or  feel  its  value.  Indeed 
there  were  few  of  his  contemporaries,  in  whom  this  latter 
element  of  generosity  was  less  developed.  He  knew  all  about 
money,  and  valued  it  at  its  full,  current  worth.  He  knew  it, 
as  a  man  knows  a  friend  and  ought  to  know  an  enemy.  That 
his  nature  was  genuinely  kind,  all  who  were  near  him  would 
have  known — as  well  as  they  know  it  now — if  he  had  died  a 
bankrupt.  His  face,  alone,  told  that  part  of  his  story,  for 
his  smile  was  of  the  sort  men  cannot  counterfeit — 

"His  eyes, 

An  outdoor  sign  of  all  the  good  within, 
Smiled  with  his  lips." 

11 


82  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

But  his  sympathies,  nevertheless,  were  not  coined,  at  sight 
of  need,  into  money.  He  began  life  with  none  of  it  to  give, 
or  even  to  keep.  He  was  very  poor.  What  he  gained,  he 
toiled  for,  and  it  came  painfully  and  slowly.  He  said  the 
prayer  for  his  daily  bread,  as  we  are  told  none  but  a  poor 
man's  child  can  say  it,  and  he  was  willing  to  do  anything 
honest  and  manly  to  turn  the  penny  that  he  needed.  Even 
after  he  had  been  established  for  some  time  in  the  District  of 
Columbia,  and  his  prospects  had  very  much  improved,  I  learn 
from  a  venerable  friend,  Mr.  Peabody's  senior  (whose  memory, 
like  the  rest  of  his  fine  faculties,  appears  only  to  brighten 
with  age),  that  he  offered  to  forward  packages  to  Baltimore, 
and  appealed  to  the  public  for  their  patronage.  As  he  had 
no  capital,  his  enterprise  could  have  been  but  a  small  one, 
probably  involving  nothing  but  his  personal  attention ;  and  I 
allude  to  it,  merely  to  show  that  he  was  not  only  content,  at 
that  time,  but  anxious,  to  earn  small  sums  in  a  small  way. 
Naturally  too,  he  was  no  doubt  equally  disposed  to  keep  what 
he  earned.  Overboard  at  sea  and  compelled  to  sink  or  swim, 
it  was  not  strange  that  he  should  feel  the  importance  of  making 
his  own  raft  sea-worthy,  before  he  pushed  away  a  plank  that 
he  could  hold.  Besides,  he  was  eminently  a  man  of  thrift. 
He  came  into  the  world  with  it,  and  he  drew  it  in  from  the 
atmosphere  into  which  he  was  born.  He  liked  to  make,  and 
to  save,  and  to  increase  his  store,  and  he  liked  the  store  itself, 
after  it  was  increased — the  more  the  better.  Money-making 
was  a  pleasure  to  him,  as  well  as  an  instinct  of  his  nature. 
Clearly,  these  circumstances  were  not  favorable  to  the  develop- 
ment, in  him,  of  Gon/.alo  De  Cordova's  doctrine.  He  was  a 
man  of  the  busiest  industry  too,  and  had  no  fancy  for  drones — 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  83 

thinking  possibly,  as  we  are  all  apt  to  think,  when  prosperous, 
or  when  health  and  energy  and  strength  are  bounding  in  us, 
that  no  man  need  want  who  will  work.  Besides,  he  was  full 
of  system  and  fond  of  detail,  two  mighty  curbs  upon  the 
imagination.  Under  all  these  influences  he  pursued,  as  he 
began,  a  saving,  painstaking,  careful  life,  and  when  he  had 
become  rich,  these  characteristics  had  grown  with  his  fortune. 
His  case  was  precisely  the  reverse  of  that  described  in  the 
Castilian  proverb,  which  says — "  The  money  of  the  Sacristan 
comes  singing  and  goes  singing."  His  habits  therefore  con- 
tinued, as  they  always  had  been,  simple  and  frugal.  His 
desires  had  not  grown  with  his  ability  to  indulge  them,  nor 
had  his  tastes.  Neither  had  the  pride  of  purse  entered,  with 
its  seven  other  devils,  into  his  robust  and  downright  nature. 
He  was  the  same  man  that  he  had  always  been — only  richer. 
And  when  still  greater  wealth  came  to  him,  by  the  rapid 
processes  of  speculation,  it  had  no  power  to  dazzle  him  or 
make  him  giddy.  He  looked  after  it,  invested  it  carefully 
and  closely,  increased  it  to  the  best  of  his  ability,  and  enjoyed, 
as  keenly  as  his  fellows,  the  pleasure  which  these  processes 
always  bring  to  men  who  deal  in  money,  and  have  that  knack 
of  handling  it  to  profit,  which  is  born  in  some,  like  poetry, 
but  cannot  be  learned.  Nor  was  he  at  all  ashamed,  so  long 
as  he  remained  in  business,  to  promote  its  success  by  all 
honorable  means.  On  the  contrary,  he  took  pains  to  do  this. 
He  was  glad  to  make  friends,  and  to  see  them  grow  into 
customers.  He  was  as  thrifty,  in  fine — as  decided  and  con- 
stant in  his  business-purposes,  and  as  close  and  systematic  in 
promoting  them — after  he  had  become  a  great  financial  power, 
as  when  he  ate  his  bread  in  the  sweat  of  his  face.  Now  and 


84  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

then  he  seemed  to  forget  all  this.  It  were  more  accurate,  to 
say  that  he  pushed  it  aside,  in  the  presence  of  higher  con- 
siderations. When  his  patriotism  or  his  national  pride  was 
touched,  he  did  not  let  it  stand  for  a  moment  in  the  way  of 
his  remembering  and  doing  what  became  him,  with  a  largeness 
of  purpose  and  freedom  of  hand  which  showed  that  the  man- 
hood of  his  nature  was  still  fresh  and  true.  He  threw  into 
his  labors  for  the  restoration  of  the  credit  of  Maryland,  his 
soul  as  well  as  his  fortune,  and  refused  any  compensation  but 
the  pleasure  and  the  pride  of  the  great  good  which  he  had 
assisted  in  consummating.  He  stood  in  the  stead  of  his  whole 
country,  to  save  her  from  the  shame  of  official  neglect  and 
meanness,  when  the  Great  Exhibition  assembled  the  nations 
together.  He  speeded  the  brave  enterprise  of  Kane  on  its 
mission  of  science  and  humanity,  with  a  liberality  and  in  a 
spirit  of  which  there  is  reason  to  believe  the  whole  story  has 
never  been  told.  Yet,  all  the  while,  he,  himself,  remained  as 
of  old,  modest,  moderate,  economical  and  thrifty — living  in 
lodgings,  without  retinue  or  luxury — not  unwilling  to  save 
a  farthing,  if  it  came  in  his  way — willing  to  go  out  of  his 
way  rather  than  waste  or  even  lose  one.  He  would  still  have 
his  bargain,  about  the  small  thing  as  well  as  the  great;  and  he 
would  make  men  stand  to  their  bargains  and  give  him,  in  the 
way  of  business,  the  fraction  that  belonged  to  him.  Imposi- 
tion he  resented  and  resisted,  no  matter  how  minute  its  form, 
and  he  would  protect  himself  from  it,  if  he  had  to  cavil  for 
his  ninth  part  of  a  hair.  A  friend  who  knew  him  well  and 
had  his  confidence,  has  told  me,  that  one  day,  in  London, 
after  an  interview  in  which  they  had  discussed  together  his 
latest  and  most  bounteous  charities — when  he  was  dispensing 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  85 

millions  with  a  stroke  of  his  pen, — Mr.  Peabody  refused  to 
take  a  cab,  and  insisted  on  walking,  because  the  cabman  they 
had  called  wanted  more  than  his  lawful  fare.  Thus,  beneath 
the  surface  of  his  munificence,  his  large  public  sympathies, 
his  generous  patriotism,  flowed  on  the  old  current  of  thrift, 
economy,  closeness  and  money-loving.  Perhaps,  rather,  the 
two  streams  ran  side  by  side  in  the  same  bed,  like  the  united 
waters  of  the  Arve  and  llhoue — one  earthy  and  bearing  the 
stain  of  the  earth,  the  other  bright  with  the  hue  of  the  sky. 
But  there  came  a  time,  at  last,  when  this  busy,  accumu- 
lating life,  with  its  seemingly  inconsistent  traits  and  phases, 
was  to  be  rounded  into  its  final  development  and  true  expres- 
sion. The  elements  of  character  which  appeared  so  much  in 
contrast  with  each  other  as  scarcely  to  be  reconciled,  were  to 
be  shown  working  all  the  while  harmoniously  together.  The 
man  of  calculation  and  acquisition — almost  of  greed,  if  you 
please — with  all  the  habits  and  temptations  which  are  com- 
monly inseparable  from  the  career  of  such,  was  of  a  sudden 
to  rise  up  superior  to  them  all,  as  if  he  had  never  known 
them — a  head  and  shoulders  higher  than  his  seeming  self. 
The  man  whose  practical  life  had  been  mainly  dedicated  to 
saving,  was  to  consecrate  the  rest  of  it  to  giving.  The  man 
who  loved  money  and  had  lived  in  pursuit  of  it,  was  to  reach 
that  point — almost  unattainable  by  humanity — at  which  he 
was  to  feel  and  say :  "  I  have  enough  ! "  Such  phenomena 
are  developments,  not  changes.  If  Mr.  Peabody's  whole 
heart  had  been  in  money  during  the  long  years  when  he  was 
"  gathering  gear,"  he  could  never,  in  his  old  age,  have  shaken 
off  the  golden  fetters.  The  result  showed  which  had  been 
master  and  which  servant,  all  the  while.  The  fruit  proved 


86  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

the  tree.  And  yet  the  fruit  had  in  it  much  taste  of  the  soil 
in  which  the  tree  grew.  The  system,  the  care,  the  prudence, 
which  had  gathered  and  preserved  his  wealth,  were  developed 
as  well  in  its  appropriation.  In  fact  he  made  benevolence 
his  business  and  dealt  with  it  as  such.  Its  merely  sympa- 
thetic guise  did  not  seem  to  attract  him.  At  all  events  he 
did  not  yield  greatly  to  its  attraction.  He  did  not  grasp  at 
the  near  pleasure  which  comes  from  the  contact  of  present 
charity  with  present  suffering.  For  his  kindred  he  provided 
with  generosity,  yet  without  prodigality.  His  aims  were 
wider  and  his  sight  went  farther  than  would  have  been  con- 
sistent with  bestowing  his  wealth  on  individuals,  no  matter 
how  much  he  prized  them.  He  had  not  mounted  upon  a 
high  hill,  without  having  his  horizon  expanded.  He  saw 
humanity  in  the  distance  as  well  as  beside  him,  and  saw  it 
was  the  same  humanity,  far  off  as  near.  Yet  his  extended 
vision  rested  where  the  mists  began.  It  did  not  seek  to 
penetrate  the  realms  of  unreality.  He  was  not  misled  by 
any  dream  of  reforming  the  world.  The  consciousness  of 
being  able  to  do  something  for  mankind,  and  the  desire  to 
do  all  that  he  could,  did  not  betray  him  into  the  folly  of 
supposing  that  he  could  do  everything.  He  was  as  far  from 
being  a  schemer  as  if  he  had  not  the  means  of  scheming.  He 
was  not  imaginative,  much  less  fanciful.  He  knew  that  wealth 
is  the  great  lever  of  the  world  and  that  his  hand  was  on  it,  but 
he  had  no  notion  that,  with  it,  he  could  change  the  course  of 
the  planet.  He  had  seen  enough  of  what  is  commonly  called 
"philanthropy,"  in  his  generation,  and  had  no  taste  for  it. 
Probably  lie  had  heard  of  Robespierre's  early  philippic 
against  capital  punishment,  and  knew  the  value  of  specula- 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  87 

tive  benevolence.  He  therefore  did  not  lend  himself  or  his 
money  to  the  schemes  of  those  excellent  but  somewhat  self- 
engrossed  and  not  very  useful  people,  who  think  that  society 
is  like  Pandora's  box,  with  its  great  good  at  the  bottom,  and 
that  the  true  way  of  getting  at  this,  is  to  turn  the  whole 
upside  down.  The  solitary  blow,  as  far  as  I  have  seen, 
which  malice  has  aimed  at  his  memory,  has  come  from  a 
"humanitarian"  quarter — as  if  to  demonstrate  the  justness  of 
his  appreciation.  Looking  at  human  nature  in  the  light  of 
his  own  experience,  and  valuing  most  highly  in  it  that 
healthy,  vigorous,  independence  which  was  his  own  peculiar 
trait,  he  thought  he  could  help  his  fellow-creatures  best,  by 
teaching  them  to  help  themselves.  He  likewise  thought  that, 
on  the  whole,  more  good  was  to  be  done  by  striking  the  evils 
of  humanity  at  their  root,  than  by  providing  for  a  few  of 
their  victims.  These  were  the  simple  principles  which  guided 
the  application  of  his  bounty.  He  persuaded  himself  that 
cleanliness,  industry  and  thrift  are  preventives  of  disease  and 
poverty ;  that  the  vices  which  fester  in  the  squalid  den  have 
no  place  in  the  decent  and  cheerful  home — so,  instead  of 
founding  hospitals  and  almshouses  for  London  vagrants  and 
paupers,  he  offered  the  attraction  of  cheap  and  comfortable 
dwellings  to  those  who  are  willing  to  work.  He  believed 
that  education,  refining  occupations,  cultivated  tastes,  the 
study  and  the  love  of  art  and  science  are,  next  to  religion, 
the  great  safeguards  and  purifiers  of  society,  and  accordingly 
he  founded  institutes,  libraries,  professorships,  boards  of  edu- 
cation, to  diffuse  and  encourage  them  among  his  countrymen. 
In  all  this,  he  followed  the  bent  of  his  life — investing  instead 
of  spending.  Nor  did  he  follow  the  example  of  some  founders, 


88  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

who  retain  control  over  their  foundations  and  deceive  them- 
selves into  the  belief  that  they  are  administering,  what  they 
are  only  unable  to  give  up  the  pleasure  of  handling.  He 
placed  all  that  he  gave  in  the  hands  of  others — absolutely  and 
without  reserve.  It  was  his  honest  and  deliberate  judgment 
that  the  best  use  he  could  make  of  the  grain  he  had  garnered 
was  to  turn  it  into  seed,  not  food.  So  he  chose  his  ground 
and  planted,  in  the  faith  that  future  seed-time  and  oft- 
returning  harvest  would  vindicate  his  choice,  under  His 
blessing  who  sends  down  the  early  and  the  latter  rain. 

Was  this,  it  has  been  asked,  as  loving  a  use  of  his  wealth, 
as  if  he  had  flung  it  into  the  palms  of  the  needy  ?  In  one 
sense,  of  course,  it  was  not.  In  another  and  a  loftier  one, 
it  was  far  more  so.  If  Mr.  Peabody  had  dedicated  his 
fortune  and  remaining  years  to  personal  alms-giving,  and  had 
sent  out  to  the  lanes  and  hedges  for  the  weary  and  the 
wretched :  if  he  had  chosen  for  his  almoners  the  institutions 
and  associations  which  deal,  from  day  to  day  with  every-day 
suffering  and  sorrow,  he  would,  no  doubt,  have  swept  a  softer 
and  a  gentler  chord  of  sympathy.  We  are  flesh  to  each  other, 
though  we  be  spirits  before  God  ;  and  the  sweet 

"  music,  to  whose  tone 
The  common  pulse  of  man  keeps  time," 

answers  most  tenderly  the  touch  of  a  warm,  human  hand. 
Who  can  have  read  Lamb's  exquisite  "  Complaint  of  the 
Decay  of  Beggars,"  without  feeling  that  the  very  shifts  and 
impostures  of  poverty  have  all  the  pathos  of  a  tribute  to  the 
daily  kindliness  and  goodness  which  walk  among  the  poor? 
With  his  fortune  and  his  purposes  of  good,  if  Mr.  Peabody 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  89 

had  chosen,  he  might  have  had  crowds  follow  him,  as  kings 
were  followed  when  men  thought  their  touch  would  heal. 
And  few  men,  with  his  heart,  and  no  man,  with  less  high 
resolves  than  his,  could  have  resisted  so  egregious  a  tempta- 
tion. Nor,  indeed,  would  it  have  been  necessary  he  should 
do  so,  if  all  men  were  prepared,  as  lie  was,  to  give  according 
to  their  means.  It  is  the  lack  of  such  a  disposition,  in  the 
mass  of  us,  which  calls  on  wise  benevolence  to  stay  its  hand, 
and  concentrate  and  organize  its  charities.  If  we  were,  to 
one  another,  all  that  we  are  commanded  and  ought  to  be, 
large  fortunes  would  rarely  be  gathered  and  eleemosynary 
foundations  would  be  superfluous.  If  every  man  did  really 
look  upon  his  neighbor  as  his  brother,  or  love  him  as  himself, 
the  circle  of  charity  would  belt  a  happy  world,  and  every 
private  life  would  be  an  institution  of  beneficence.  Why 
this  great  scheme  of  Christianity  is  not  wrought  out  yet,  or 
when  it  will  be,  we  may  not  know.  Society  therefore  must 
deal  with  its  problems  as  it  finds  them,  and  think  for 
to-morrow  as  well  as  for  to-day.  In  fact,  the  very  applica- 
tion of  large  private  wealth  to  present  purposes  of  charity, 
has  its  ill  effects  as  well  as  good.  There  is  a  class  of  moral 
and  most  respectable  people,  who  pay  with  absolute  punc- 
tuality all  the  debts  that  can  be  recovered  from  them  by  law, 
but  who  do  not  recognize,  with  equal  alacrity,  the  obligation 
of  any  others.  They  think  they  have  done  all  that  they  are 
called  to  do,  in  behalf  of  education  and  charity,  when  they 
have  paid  the  taxes  levied  for  schools  and  almshouses.  They 
are  typified  by  Jeremy  Taylor's  "  man  of  ordinary  piety," 
whom  he  likens  to  "Gideon's  fleece,  wet  in  its  own  locks, 
but  it  could  not  water  a  poor  man's  garden."  To  these 
12 


90  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

worthy  citizens,  the  benevolence  of  others  appears  only  to 
come  in  aid  of  municipal  contribution ;  and  the  larger  its 
abundance  the  greater  the  justification  they  find  in  it  for 
their  unwillingness  to  give  to  any  but  the  public  collector, 
or  to  give  to  him  any  more  than  they  cannot  help.  Why 
should  they  trouble  themselves  to  take  in  the  poor  estrays 
of  humanity,  when  there  is  room  enough  for  them  in  the 
common  pound  which  the  public  or  some  one  else  has  pro- 
vided ?  It  is  not  worth  while  for  society  to  shut  its  eyes 
to  these  and  kindred  considerations,  and  the  wise  and  good 
who  undertake  to  be  its  benefactors,  must  act  for  the  world 
as  it  is,  and  subordinate  sentiment  to  prudence  and  duty. 
They  must  look  to  the  future  and  mankind,  not  less  than 
to  the  present  and  the  individual.  And  it  is  in  this  sense 
that  their  charity  is  the  noblest  of  all,  because  it  is  the  largest 
of  all  in  its  scope.  It  goes  even  beyond  the  love  which  has 
been  beautifully  described,  as  "not  a  spasm  but  a  life."  It 
imitates,  with  reverence,  as  far  as  man  may  imitate,  the  work- 
ings of  that  Supreme  Beneficence,  which  guides  by  large  rules 
the  universal  plan  of  its  goodness.  Nor  does  it  recognize  the 
less  its  relation  to  humanity.  The  human  sympathy  which 
wins  a  blessing  from  the  way-side  beggar  is  none  the  less 
heartfelt  and  human,  surely,  because  it  is  expanded  in  pur- 
pose and  through  time,  and  is  directed  and  informed  by  sys- 
tem and  intelligence. 

And  here  a  thought  presents  itself,  on  which  I  cannot  pause 
to  dwell,  but  which  appears  not  altogether  barren  of  sugges- 
tion. Enormous  capital  is  one  of  the  phenomena — perhaps 
the  mightiest  engine — of  our  civilization.  Vast  fortunes  are 
in  many  hands,  private  as  well  as  corporate,  and  vastness  is 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  91 

the  characteristic  of  all  enterprises,  good  and  bad.  Side  by 
side  with  this  increase  in  wealth  and  the  number  of  those;  who 
control  it,  is  another  phenomenon,  almost  as  singular  under 
the  circumstances.  I  mean  the  great  and  general  diffusion 
of  competence  and  comfort,  among  the  multitudes  \vho  are 
not  rich — among  those  who  labor  with  their  hands,  as  well 
as  those  of  more  liberal  pursuits.  In  this  state  of  society, 
and  regarding,  comprehensively,  the  interests  as  well  as  the 
resources  of  the  community  at  large,  it  is  well  worth  consider- 
ing whether  the  field  of  benevolence  proper  to  be  cultivated 
by  the  very  rich,  is  not  precisely  that  which  Mr.  Peabody 
selected,  leaving  the  more  personal  and  minor  charities  to 
minor  fortunes.  The  distribution  seems  a  wise  one,  if  benevo- 
lence be  not  ashamed  to  learn  from  greed.  If  concentration 
of  capital,  which  is  power,  has  been  found  to  serve  the  purposes 
of  gain,  it  cannot  less  promote  the  nobler  industries  of  loving- 
kindness. 

But  whether  the  disposition  which  Mr.  Peabody  made  of 
his  wealth  was  more  or  less  genial  or  wise,  has  nothing  to  do 
with  the  spirit  in  which  he  parted  with  it.  He  dedicated  it 
to  ends  which  he  honestly  thought  good.  He  directed  it 
wisely,  according  to  his  best  wisdom.  Whether  he  was  right, 
or  was  mistaken,  in  his  modes  or  his  ends,  his  riches  at  all 
events  went  away  from  himself.  In  the  ripe  maturity  of  a 
yet  vigorous  life  and  the  unembarrassed  control  of  a  colossal 
fortune ;  at  an  age  when  the  love  of  money  is  apt  to  seize 
upon  those  who  have  loved  it  least,  and  becomes  the  very 
existence  of  those  who  have  always  loved  it ;  when,  if  men 
pause  from  struggling,  it  is  to  enjoy  in  tranquility  the  fruits 
of  struggle;  honored,  respected,  with  every  avenue  accessible 


92  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

to  his  ambition  which  popularity  could  open  and  every  prize 
at  his  command  which  wealth  could  buy — (and  what  can  it 
not  buy  ?) — he  deliberately  converted  his  remaining  years  into 
a  season  of  stewardship  and  surrendered  himself  to  his  kind. 
In  the  simple  and  touching  language  of  the  epitaph  which 
commemorates  the  founder  of  the  Charity  Hospital  at  Seville  : 
"  He  gave  to  them  whatever  he  had."  There  is  no  record, 
that  I  know,  of  any  man  who,  in  like  case,  did  likewise. 
Mouarchs,  it  is  true,  have  abdicated  thrones,  in  the  fulness 
of  power.  But,  for  the  most  part,  it  was  a  retirement  from 
self  in  one  form,  into  self  in  another.  Satiety  of  pomp  and 
pleasure — repentance  of  misdeeds — a  weariness  of  strife  and 
longing  for  repose — made  them  fling  down  their  sceptres  in 
the  reaction  of  despair.  The  jaded  soul  yearned  for  deliver- 
ance and  rushed  into  the  shades  for  refuge.  Those  who  have 
followed  Charles  into  the  cloisters  of  Yuste,  will  remember 
how  the  phantoms  of  empire  still  haunted  the  devotee  at  the 
altar.  But  the  love  of  money  is  more  absorbing  and  more 
abiding  than  even  the  love  of  power.  Avarice  may  not 
always  be  a  worse  passion  than  ambition,  but  it  is  a  lower 
one.  Its  poison  may  not  be  the  deadliest  to  the  moral  nature, 
but  it  is  as  deadly  as  any,  and  is  the  most  penetrating  and 
pervading  of  all.  Ambition  is  consistent  with  the  noblest 
and  most  generous  aims.  Sometimes  indeed  'tis  but  their 
splendid  herald.  Avarice  is  selfish  only,  and  its  selfishness  is 
all  meanness.  It  not  only  panders  to  self,  but  to  all  the 
basenesses  of  self-seeking.  It  dwarfs  the  intellect,  chokes 
every  generous  impulse,  rots  every  seed  of  human  feeling, 
tolerates  no  passion  even,  that  is  not,  like  itself,  a  lust.  It 
breaks,  in  fine,  all  links  but  one,  and  that  the  foulest,  between 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  93 

the  miser  and  his  species.  What  avarice  is,  the  pursuit  of 
money  tends  to.  The  monks  of  St.  Francis  expressed  a  great 
truth  (though  in  what  Bacon  calls  a  "  friarly "  way)  when 
they  warned  Rienzi  that  money  was  not  to  be  trusted.  "  The 
purse  of  our  Lord,"  they  told  him,  "was  committed  to  Judas. 
If  it  had  been  meant  as  a  good  thing,  it  would  have  been 
entrusted  to  St.  Peter."  Dealing  with  money — thinking  of 
it,  turning  it  over — as  an  exclusive  occupation,  men  become 
as  if  under  a  demoniacal  possession.  And  no  fiend  more 
fearful  ever  entered  human  soul,  than  the  vice  which  turns 
hopes  and  affections,  desires  and  aspirations,  all,  into  self. 
How  grandly  Tennyson  has  taught  us,  lately,  in  "  The  Holy 
Grail,"  that  all  the  heroism  which  ever  sought  earthly  good 
or  heavenly  reward  is  powerless  to  win  them,  unless  self  be 
immolated  on  the  altar. 

"  Galahad,  when  he  heard  of  Merlin's  doom, 
Cried  '  If  I  lose  myself,  I  save  myself.' " 

Search  the  annals  of  men  who  have  honored  and  blessed 
their  race ;  look  through  the  daily  walks  of  lofty  and  of  com- 
mon life,  of  public  service  and  of  private  toil ;  go  round  the 
circles  of  domestic  love  and  happiness ;  and,  everywhere,  you 
find  that  the  secret  of  one  man's  being  held  better  than 
another,  and  more  loved  and  worthy  of  love  than  another; 
the  mainspring  of  men's  permanent  influence  and  real  power 
over  other  men  and  crowds  of  men  ;  is  their  capacity  to  with- 
draw themselves  from  self — to  bestow  heart  and  soul  upon 
something  outside  of  themselves;  upon  some  other  living 
creature;  on  friends,  or  country,  or  on  all  the  creatures  of 
God.  Analyse  every  good  thing  we  do,  from  great  to  small, 


94  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

and  that  will  turn  out  to  be  its  essence.  Self-sacrifice,  in  all 
its  shapes,  is  made  up  of  it.  It  speaks  in  a  child's  confession 
of  a  fault,  and  it  flushed  the  cheek  of  Curtius  as  he  leapt  into 
the  gulf.  Patriotism  is  vapid  hypocrisy,  and  the  battle-field 
murder,  without  it.  The  divine  blood  which  the  Knights  of 
Arthur  sought  after,  with  their  swords  and  prayers,  was  shed 
as  a  type  of  it  and  to  be  a  lesson  of  it,  from  on  high,  forever. 
And  it  is  to  this  especial  virtue,  the  root  of  all  virtues  and 
of  all  true  manhood,  that  money-hunting  and  money-handling 
are  essentially  hostile  and  perpetually  fatal.  The  hand  goes 
on  grasping  and  holding  fast,  till  it  parts  with  all  power  but 
that  of  grasping  and  holding.  The  heart  and  the  muscles, 
alike,  lose  every  function  but  that  of  contracting.  When  old 
Strahan,  the  printer,  recalled  to  Dr.  Johnson  a  remark  of  his, 
that  "  there  are  few  ways  in  which  a  man  can  be  more  inno- 
cently employed  than  in  getting  money,"  he  added,  and  with 
entire  unconsciousness  of  the  force  of  what  he  was  saying, 
that  "  the  more  one  thinks  of  this,  the  juster  it  will  appear." 
Johnson,  whose  experience  in  money-getting  certainly  entitled 
his  opinion  to  great  weight,  and  who  fully  appreciated  the 
justice  of  his  own  observations,  appeared  to  think  so  too. 
And,  in  fact,  it  is  the  thinking  of  it  which  perverts  the  judg- 
ment and  corrupts  the  heart.  The  more  one  thinks  of  it, 
the  more  he  yields  to  it,  and  the  less  he  is  able  to  think  of 
anything  besides.  Thus  is  it  that  we  see,  so  often,  the  large 
designs,  the  long-considered  plans,  of  men  whose  natures  in 
themselves  are  kindly,  made  futile — sometimes  simply  des- 
picable— by  their  incapacity  to  loose  their  hold  upon  the 
merest  superfluities  of  fortune.  Thus  is  it,  that  benevolence 
so  often  sinks  into  that  "  painted  sepulchre  of  alms,"  a  testa- 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  95 

mentary  bequest,  and  only  the  relaxation  of  the  dying  moment 
can  open  the  clutching  fingers. 

It  is  this  which  I  promised  to  consider,  when  I  spoke,  a 
little  while  ago,  of  the  single  and  melancholy  circumstance 
which  made  it  otherwise  than  strange  that  rich  men  did  not 
find,  in  giving,  the  highest  pleasure  and  privilege  of  wealth. 
And  it  is  because  George  Peabody  was  above  all  this  :  because 
he  made  himself  a  rich  man,  from  poverty,  without  being  cor- 
rupted by  great  riches ;  because  the  soil  of  his  nature  was  so 
generous,  that  the  very  root  of  all  evil  sprang  up  to  immeas- 
urable good  in  it — it  is  for  this  that  the  world  reverences  him 
to-day.  Not  merely  for  the  good  he  did,  since  that  depended 
on  his  means  and  opportunities,  and  must  depend,  to  a  great 
extent,  upon  others  hereafter — not  for  the  magnitude  of  his 
offerings,  for  his  wealth  was  but  the  platform  which  lifted 
his  virtues  into  sight — but  because  he  furnished  an  example, 
never  known  in  the  world  before,  of  a  man  who  united  all 
the  love  of  money,  which  makes  men  richest  and  most  men 
meanest,  with  all  the  scorn  of  its  dominion  which  burns  in 
the  noblest  soul.  To  live  a  life  of  painful  and  painstaking 
acquisition :  to  wrestle  with  covetousness,  while  climbing 
from  early  destitution  to  the  height  of  what  a  covetous 
heart  could  desire ;  and  then  to  put  his  foot  upon  his  gains 
and  their  temptations,  like  a  gladiator  on  a  wild  beast  van- 
quished— this  is  the  spectacle  which  has  made  the  world's 
amphitheatre  tumultuous.  Nor  is  the  shout  for  the  moment 
only,  to  be  lost  in  the  common  noise.  So  long  as  men  shall 
wrestle  in  the  same  arena  and  other  men  look  on,  it  shall  ring 
in  the  ears  of  the  wrestlers  and  nerve  them  to  win  their  fight. 
There  is  no  death  in  victories  like  this,  for  such  deeds  of  our 


96  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

better  nature  partake  of  its  own  immortality.  Men  wonder, 
after  long  centuries,  at  the  Diocletians  and  the  Amuraths, 
who  flung  away  the  purple  when  it  was  the  only  symbol  of 
power;  and  now  that  money  is  king  over  kings,  they  must 
remember,  with  greater  admiration,  the  rich  man  who  dis- 
crowned himself.  In  proportion  to  their  admiration  are  the 
greatness  and  the  lesson  of  his  example. 

And  let  us  not  forget  how  much  the  simple  dignity  of  that 
example  has  added  to  its  lustre.  We  are  familiar  with  the 
honors  which  were  tendered  to  Mr.  Peabody — the  tributes 
of  national  gratitude  and  popular  affection  and  respect,  which 
crowded,  as  it  were,  around  him,  in  his  later  day.  He  knew 
their  value  fully — no  man  better.  He  knew  it  too  well  to  be 
indifferent  to  them  and  he  was  too  much  a  man  to  affect 
indifference.  He  felt  that  the  kind,  the  almost  affectionate 
words  which  the  Queen  of  Great  Britain  addressed  to  him, 
were  not  merely  the  generous  utterance  of  her  own  womanly 
and  gentle  thought,  but  expressed  the  feeling  and  opinion  of 
a  great  and  manly  people,  whose  applause  is  almost  fame. 
He  cherished  the  sympathy  and  praise  of  his  own  country, 
as  a  man  listens  to  the  blessing  of  his  mother.  He  loved 
approbation,  like  most  men  who  deserve  it,  and  its  expres- 
sion was  the  more  welcome  to  him,  because  he  knew  it  was 
deserved.  Yet  he  was  shaken  from  his  poise  by  neither 
praise,  nor  gratitude,  nor  honors.  He  was  unchanged,  as  if 
his  right  hand  had  not  heard  of  the  doings  of  his  left.  He 
passed  under  the  arches,  without  a  thrill  or  a  gesture  of 
triumph,  and  his  life,  after,  was  as  his  life  before.  In  all 
that  he  has  made  us  proud  to  remember,  we  can  remember 
nothing  more  proudly  than  this. 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  97 

To  such  a  life  there  could  be  but  a  fitting  close : 

"  His  twelve,  long  sunny  hours 
Bright  to  the  edge  of  darkness;   then  the  calm 
Repose  of  twilight  and  a  crown  of  stars !  " 

Having  thus  given,  imperfectly  I  know,  but  to  the  best 
of  my  ability  and  with  all  the  fulness  which  the  occasion  will 
permit,  my  honest  though  humble  judgment  of  the  life  and 
character  of  Mr.  Peabody  and  the  great  moral  taught  by  his 
career — having  striven,  above  all  things,  to  speak  of  him 
nothing  but  the  truth — I  should  feel  that  my  duty  was 
discharged,  if  I  stood  anywhere  save  where  I  am.  But 
here,  in  Baltimore,  upon  the  soil  of  Maryland,  in  the  pres- 
ence of  so  many  of  her  citizens  and  their  official  representa- 
tives assembled  in  his  honor ;  surrounded,  on  his  birth-day, 
by  his  old  companions,  by  the  memories  of  his  devotion  and 
the  tokens  of  his  bounty  ;  I  feel  that  there  is  something  more, 
which  should  not  go  unsaid.  I  care  not  to  speak  of  the 
resources  he  placed  at  our  disposal  for  the  education  and 
improvement  of  our  people,  nor  even  of  the  signal  service 
he  rendered  to  the  State  in  the  days  of  her  financial  weak- 
ness and  humiliation.  What  we  owe  him,  for  these  things, 
need  not  be  told.  Our  sense  of  their  value  is  written  in 
grateful  words  on  our  Legislative  records ;  and  they  are  part 
of  our  history,  as  they  will  be  of  our  remembrance,  for  ever. 
But  the  good-will  which  prompted  them,  and  which  cannot 
be  measured,  should  not  pass  unacknowledged  to-day.  We 
are  proud  of  that  confidence  in  the  rectitude  of  our  people, 
which  made  him  our  champion,  before  the  world,  when 
some  of  the  best  and  wisest  among  ourselves  had  fallen 
13 


98  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

away  from  their  faith  in  our  honor.  We  rejoice,  for  his 
sake  not  less  than  for  our  own,  to  have  proved  that  his 
confidence  was  just — to  have  aided  him  in  vindicating  the 
lofty  principle  of  his  life,  that  to  think  well  of  mankind  is 
wisdom.  We  recall,  with  tenderness,  the  attachment  he  felt 
for  our  City,  as  "the  home  of  his  early  business,  and  the 
scene  of  his  youthful  exertions."  We  give  him  back  the 
sympathies  which  distance  and  time  could  not  weaken  in 
his  bosom  nor  prosperity  efface.  We  cherish  the  feeling 
that  he  was  one  of  ourselves — that  if  he  had  given  away 
his  heart,  as  dying  kings  give  theirs,  he  would  have  sent  it 
to  be  buried  among  us.  We  cling  to  his  fame  and  his  exam- 
ple as  part  of  our  own  heritage,  and  to  the  brotherhood  which 
was  between  us,  as  even  dearer  than  his  fame. 

But  other  considerations,  belonging  to  this  place  and  this 
occasion,  press  upon  me  yet  more  engrossiugly  than  these. 
There  is  an  Eastern  story,  of  a  man  who  could  bear  a  thousand 
pounds  weight,  but  a  single  hard  word  was  too  heavy  for 
him ;  and  there  are  times  when  to  hush  that  word  and  say  a 
single  one  of  kindness,  is  the  grandest  act  and  the  richest  gift 
of  charity.  Upon  this  very  spot — it  seems  but  yesterday, 
though  years  and  death  have  come  between — I  heard  Mr. 
Peabody  pour  out  his  heart,  on  the  occasion  to  which  I 
alluded  in  my  opening.  How  what  he  said  affected  others, 
they  knew  best,  but  thinking  and  believing  of  him,  truly,  all 
that  I  have  sought  to  say,  I  own  that  I  have  felt  and  said 
it  twice  as  warmly,  in  memory  of  that  day.  He  had  lived 
among  us,  a  Northern  man  among  a  Southern  people,  loving 
and  beloved.  He  had  left  us  happy  and  united — he  returned 
to  find  us  sullen  and  divided.  The  wounds  of  our  then  recent 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  99 

civil  strife  were  yet  unhealed.  Political  antagonisms,  social 
resentments,  personal  and  even  domestic  animosities,  were  still 
rankling,  and  it  was  next  to  impossible  for  any  man  to  speak, 
without  offence  to  some  one  whom  he  cared  for,  of  what 
brooded  so  ominously  over  the  hearts  of  so  many.  But  Mr. 
Peabody  felt  that  his  opportunity  was  great  for  good,  and 
that  opportunity  made  duty.  He  took  the  chances  of  offence, 
and  spoke  what  was  in  him,  like  a  man.  While  he  pro- 
claimed that  his  sympathies  had  been  always  with  the  Union 
and  his  hopes  with  the  success  of  its  armies,  he  dared  to 
proclaim,  at  the  same  time,  his  respect  for  the  integrity  and 
manhood  of  the  vanquished.  He  traced  and  recognized,  with 
the  philosophy  of  truth  and  kindness,  the  influence  of  birth 
and  education  on  opinion.  He  braved  the  censure  of  zealots, 
on  the  one  side,  by  dealing  with  the  convictions  of  the  South 
as  error,  he  braved  it  equally,  upon  the  other,  by  a  manly 
protest  against  confounding  such  error  with  crime. 

"  Never,  therefore,"  he  said,  "  during  the  war  or  since, 
have  I  permitted  the  contest,  or  any  passions  engendered 
by  it,  to  interfere  with  the  social  relations  and  warm  friend- 
ships which  I  had  formed  for  a  very  large  number  of  the 
people  of  the  South.  .  .  .  And  now,  after  the  lapse  of  these 
eventful  years,  I  am  more  deeply,  more  earnestly,  more  pain- 
fully convinced  than  ever,  of  our  need  of  mutual  forbearance 
and  conciliation,  of  Christian  charity  and  forgiveness,  of 
united  effort  to  bind  up  the  fresh  and  broken  wounds  of  the 
nation." 

I  know  of  more  than  one  estrangement  which  those  noble 
words  of  his  reconciled.  I  know  of  more  than  one  bosom, 
in  which  they  dried  the  waters  of  bitterness — more  than  one 


100  GEORGE  PEABODY. 

fountain  of  tears,  long  sealed,  which  they  opened.  Time  will 
be,  when  men  shall  wonder  that  such  counsels  could  ever  have 
been  needed,  and  more  will  be  the  marvel  that  even  passion 
did  not  blush  to  deny  them  welcome.  Here,  where  he  uttered 
them,  and  standing  almost  in  his  presence,  I  do  them  grateful 
reverence.  And  when  I  think  how  the  charity  from  which 
they  sprang  went  out  into  the  desolate  places  of  war ;  how  it 
poured  its  treasures  into  kindly  and  trusted  hands,  that  they 
might  minister  to  the  higher  needs  of  our  crushed  and  helpless 
kindred ;  I  seem  to  see  a  light  around  the  good  man's  image, 
more  radiant,  tenfold,  than  the  sunbeam  which  flashed  across  the 
Abbey  to  his  pall.  These  crowning  acts  of  his  whole  life — its 

"bright  consummate  flower — " 

gave  all  that  was  needed,  of  fulness,  to  its  lesson,  and  all  that 
could  be  added,  of  greatness  and  beauty,  to  his  example.  He 
had  taught  us  that  brilliant  qualities  of  intellect  or  character 
are  not  indispensable  to  make  men  useful  or  honored,  and 
that  the  real  benefactors  of  their  kind  are  not  they  at  the 
sound  of  whose  name  the  world  stands  still.  He  had  shown 
how  the  humble  and  the  poor  may  lift  themselves  among  the 
great  ones  of  the  earth,  by  industry,  integrity  and  independence, 
and  how  the  rich  may  keep  above  their  riches,  by  clinging  to 
the  treasure  of  their  souls.  He  had  taught  how  the  simple 
dignity  of  manhood  may  rise  superior  to  rank  and  station, 
and  that  all  the  grandeur  of  power  lies  only  in  its  uses.  He 
had  ennobled  wealth  by  his  touch,  as  knights  give  knight- 
hood, and  established  as  the  canon  of  its  primogeniture  that 
humanity  is  its  first-born.  It  was  only  left  for  him  to  show 


GEORGE  PEABODY.  101 

to  his  own  brethren,  that  men  may  love  their  country  without 
intolerance,  may  fight  her  battles  without  hate,  and  be  con- 
querors without  revenge. 

The  blessing  of  the  peace-makers  be  upon  him  and  his 


memory 


ADDRESS 

DELIVERED  BEFORE 

THE  LAW  CLASS 

OP  THE 

UNIVERSITY    OF    MARYLAND, 

AT  THE 

Annual  Commencement  of  the  Law  Department, 

JUNE  15TH,  1872. 


ADDRESS. 


r  I  iHE  Faculty  of  Law,  gentlemen,  have  done  me  the  honor 
-J-_  to  request  that  I  should  vary,  upon  this  occasion,  the 
routine  of  my  official  intervention,  and — not  exactly  deliver 
you  an  oration,  as  I  see  is  announced — but  address  you  more 
at  length  than  would  otherwise  have  been  my  province.  I 
should  have  yielded  to  their  wishes  with  less  reluctance,  had 
my  engagements  permitted  me  to  command  the  time  for  more 
careful  thought  and  preparation.  Indeed,  agreeable  as  is  the 
duty,  in  itself,  to  one  whose  sympathies  are  warmly  with  the 
struggles  and  aspirations  of  youth,  I  should  hardly  have  under- 
taken to  discharge  it,  but  for  the  assurance  of  that  indulgent 
consideration  from  my  professional  brethren,  which  only  men 
who  are  themselves  over-tasked  can  fully  feel  to  be  the  right 
of  their  over-tasked  fellows.  When  the  career  upon  which  you 
are  just  entering  shall  begin  to  be  near  its  close,  you  will  be 
more  fortunate  than  they  who  have  preceded  you,  if  your  recol- 
lections of  the  best  efforts  of  your  lives  shall  not  be  clouded  by 
the  painful  consciousness  that  you  were  able  to  give  to  them 
but  divided  faculties  and  the  weariness  of  a  jaded  brain. 

Before  I  go  farther,  gentlemen,  you  must  permit  me  to 
congratulate  you  upon  your  good  fortune,  and  the  good  judg- 
14  105 


106  COMMENCEMENT 

ment  of  your  advisers,  in  the  selection  of  the  means  which 
you  have  chosen  for  elementary  professional  instruction.  I 
do  not  say  this  as  matter  of  form,  nor  by  way  of  compliment 
to  the  able  and  accomplished  teachers  of  whose  learning  and 
labors  you  have  enjoyed  the  fruits.  Professional  opinion  has 
been  very  much  divided  as  to  the  advantage  of  university- 
instruction,  by  way  of  lectures,  to  students  of  law.  My  own 
experience  and  observation,  I  confess,  have  not  inclined  me 
towards  that  system,  if  pursued  with  any  approach  to  exclu- 
siveness.  In  England,  the  sentiment  and  custom  of  the  pro- 
fession have  hitherto  been  strongly  against  it,  and,  even  now, 
the  effort  to  make  it  compulsory  there  is  resisted  by  some  of 
the  ablest  and  broadest  intellects  of  the  Bar.  Even  those  of 
the  laity,  who  are  in  the  habit  of  rallying  us  upon  that 
"glorious  uncertainty,"  which  they  seem  to  think  belongs 
to  the  law,  as  contradistinguished  from  the  rest  of  human 
things,  would  be  surprised  to  know  the  extent  of  the  conflict 
which  exists  on  this  point,  among  those  who  are  best  qualified 
to  judge.  In  a  recent  debate  in  the  House  of  Commons,  upon 
certain  resolutions  of  Sir  Roundell  Palmer,  relating  to  the 
establishment  of  a  school  of  Law  in  London,  this  diversity 
of  opinion  was  almost  amusingly  developed.  The  learned 
and  eminent  author  of  the  resolutions  used  strong  language 
in  regard  to  the  existing  system  of  office-education.  I  doubt 
whether  he  would  have  made  it  less  strong,  if  his  experience 
had  extended  to  this  country  as  well  as  to  his  own.  He  said 
it  is,  "  in  truth  a  hand-to-mouth  system,  under  which  every- 
body is  left  to  pick  up  his  own  instruction  in  law,  as  well  as 
he  can,  entirely  with  a  view  to  practice,  and  by  doing  it  in 
that  manner,  with  the  assistance  of  those  who  are  themselves 


ADDRESS.  107 

engaged  in  practice,  it  is  impossible  that  any  foundation  of  a 
scientific  knowledge  of  the  law  can  be  laid,  however  desirable 
it  may  be;  and,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  it  is  not."  He  then 
spoke  of  the  law  itself,  in  terms  any  thing  but  respectful. 
"  There  is  no  doubt,"  he  said,  "  that  the  body  of  our  law 
contains  many  most  excellent  things,  yet  it  is,  on  the  whole, 
a  very  unmethodical  and  undigested  mass."  He  went  further, 
and  drew  a  distinction  between  "  the  technicalities  of  the  Eng- 
lish law,  or  that  sort  of  law  which  people  study  in  England 
and  practice  in  the  English  Courts,"  and  "  the  law  as  a 
system  and  a  science."  He  thought  that  the  simplification 
of  the  law  depended  upon  its  scientific  teaching;  and  that 
such  teaching  and  the  formation  of  scientific  and  enlightened 
lawyers  by  it,  were  best  to  be  secured  by  the  establishment 
of  a  great  legal  University,  with  lectures  and  scholarships, 
and  with  examiners  whose  certificate  should  be  essential  to 
admission. 

The  project  was  opposed  by  no  less  distinguished  a  leader 
(among  others)  than  the  Attorney  General,  Sir  John  Coleridge. 
He  professed  to  agree  with  the  learned  mover,  in  principle, 
but,  as  is  usual  in  such  case  in  our  Craft,  (if  I  may  be  per- 
mitted to  say  so,)  he  differed  the  more  widely  on  that  account, 
from  Sir  Roundell,  in  applying  it.  He  said  that  "  to  teach 
English  law  by  lectures  was  a  pure  delusion.  It  could  be 
learned  by  practice  only,  and  that " — he  was  irreverent  enough 
to  add — "  on  account  of  its  unscientific  system."  He  hoped 
"  to  see  the  day  when  the  scandal  of  unscientific  law  would  be 
removed  by  a  Code,"  but,  without  a  Code,  he  insisted  that 
"it  is  utterly  impracticable  to  teach  the  law,  as  it  stands, 
without  practically  demonstrating  it  in  the  Courts." 


108  COMMENCEMENT 

The  resolutions  were  negatived  by  the  House,  though  not 
altogether  on  grounds  which  preclude  their  principle  from 
being,  to  some  extent,  hereafter  adopted.  I  have  referred  to 
the  debate,  chiefly  because  it  shows  how  much  more  sharply 
than  perhaps  you  are  aware,  the  line  is  drawn,  among  leading 
professional  thinkers,  between  the  advocates  of  office-routine 
and  those  who  favor  University-instruction.  The  conflict  of 
these  extreme  opinions  seems  to  justify  to  my  own  judgment 
the  middle  view  which  it  has  for  many  years  approved.  I 
mean  the  superiority  of  the  double  system,  of  which  it  has  been 
our  effort  to  give  you  the  advantage,  under  the  auspices  of  the 
University  of  Maryland.  You  have  had,  on  the  one  hand, 
the  benefit  of  a  thoroughly  practical  office-education,  with 
daily  attendance  on  the  Courts,  and,  upon  the  other,  you  have 
been  carefully  and  systematically  trained  by  your  Professors 
in  legal  principles  and  reasoning.  The  tendency  of  the  office 
to  sharpen,  contract  and  render  technical,  has  been  met  and 
counteracted  by  that  larger  exercise  of  thought,  which  expands 
the  intellect  and  weds  analysis  to  generalization.  The  Regents 
of  the  University  are  pleased  to  be  able,  from  the  report  of 
your  teachers,  to  express  their  gratification  at  the  diligence 
and  success  with  which  you  have  labored  to  improve  the 
opportunities  afforded  you.  It  is  but  just  for  us  to  recognize 
the  promise  of  usefulness  and  honor  which  your  opening 
career  has  given. 

You  of  course  understand  your  present  position,  and  know 
what  lies  before  you,  too  well  to  be  discouraged  by  the  sug- 
gestion that  your  labors,  thus  far,  have  brought  you  but  to 
the  beginning  of  your  fitness  for  the  task  you  have  undertaken. 
The  future  is  to  be  for  you  not  only  an  enduring  struggle  for 


ADDRESS.  109 

success,  but  a  perpetual  effort  to  deserve  it.  You  not  only 
cannot  stand  still  where  you  now  are  in  knowledge,  but  there 
will  be  no  point  in  your  career,  protracted  and  fortunate  as 
it  may  be,  at  which  you  can  safely  rest,  in  the  conviction  that 
you  have  learned  enough  and  need  labor  no  more.  On  the 
contrary,  you  will  find  the  horizon  expanding  and  receding  as 
you  advance;  and,  long  as  your  day  may  be,  the  darkness  will 
come  on  while  it  is  yet  far  away  from  you.  Experience  of 
course  gives  confidence,  and  the  long  exercise  of  his  powers 
enables  every  man  of  sense  to  form  a  reasonable  calculation 
of  his  own  strength  and  reasonably  to  trust  it.  So,  too, 
increasing  knowledge,  and  familiarity  with  the  use  of  it,  beget 
a  proper  and  healthful  self-reliance  and  self-possession  as  we 
grow  older;  but  it  is  only  fools  who  become  self-sufficient 
with  age.  To  the  eye  that  has  been  trained  in  seeking  after 
truth  and  wisdom,  the  distance  that  lies  behind  us  is  always 
less  than  that  which  is  left  to  travel.  With  a  life-long  task 
then  before  you,  it  becomes  you  to  consider  well  how  you 
shall  undertake  it  best.  No  man,  of  course,  is  able  to  make 
his  life  a  logical  process,  and  deduce  results  from  his  plans 
and  calculations,  like  conclusions  from  premises ;  but  it  is 
still  possible  for  us,  in  the  main,  to  give  a  general  direction 
to  our  course  by  following  out  some  general  ideas  and  princi- 
ples. The  greatest  soldier,  it  is  true,  will  often  find  that  his 
campaign  depends  as  much  upon  his  enemy  as  on  himself. 
His  best  plans  quite  as  frequently  will  come  to  nought,  but 
still,  a  campaign  without  a  plan  is  not  very  apt  to  end  in  a 
Te  Deum.  If  you  would  not  find  yourselves  astray  in  a  dark 
wood  like  Dante,  when  you  are  "  midway  upon  the  journey  " 
of  your  lives,  you  must  endeavor,  now  that  the  respousibilities 


110  COMMENCEMENT 

of  manhood  are  opening  upon  you,  to  form  some  definite 
understanding  of  what  you  have  to  do,  and  what  your  own 
qualifications  are  for  doing  it.  Concerning  the  latter  branch 
of  the  subject,  mistakes  are,  I  fear,  as  natural  and  as  inevitable 
to  you  as  to  the  rest  of  us.  With  respect  to  the  former,  we 
are  all  in  the  habit  of  making  a  good  many  more  than  are 
necessary.  We  are  much  under  the  dominion  of  phrases, 
which  appear  to  mean  a  good  deal,  but  really  mean  very  little, 
if  any  thing.  We  accept  a  great  many  things  as  axioms, 
which  are  only  platitudes.  We  pin  our  faith  to  the  traditions 
of  "  unlanterned  nights,"  (as  Lamb  calls  them,)  the  darkness 
of  which,  heaven  be  praised,  has  long  since  departed.  In  all 
this,  I  suppose  we  differ  but  little  from  the  rest  of  the  world, 
for  it  is  sad  to  think — nay,  what  a  bloody  lining  there  is 
sometimes  to  the  thought — how  much  the  fate  of  individuals 
and  the  fortunes  of  society  and  nations  are  made  to  hang 
upon  words,  which  are  passionately  taken  to  be  things. 

Assuredly  there  is  no  one  who  has  less  disposition  than 
myself  to  undervalue  the  profession  to  which  I  am  proud  to 
belong.  Least  of  all  would  I  desire  to  lessen  its  attraction 
or  its  value  in  your  eyes,  at  a  moment  when  you  are  looking 
forward  to  its  honors  and  rewards,  in  the  first  fulness  of  that 
generous  enthusiasm  which  is  the  brightest  and  most  winning 
of  the  traits  of  youth.  But  to  understand  what  your  calling 
really  is — to  take  the  true  measure  of  its  importance  and  its 
dignity — is  only  to  be  just  to  yourselves  and  to  it.  There 
are  many  illusions  which  we  ought  never  to  part  with  so  long 
as  we  can  persuade  them  to  linger,  but  those  which  distort 
to  us  the  practical  objects  and  purposes  of  our  lives  belong 
to  a  different  class. 


ADDRESS.  Ill 

It  is  the  fashion  among  us  to  speak  of  the  law  as  a  science, 
and  I  cannot  tell  how  many  clever  and  ingenious  young  men 
I  have  myself  known,  whose  first  experience  of  their  profes- 
sion, in  its  practical  working  and  application,  was  made  one  of 
painful  disappointment,  and  almost  disgust,  by  this  exaggera- 
tion. Jurisprudence  is  a  science,  certainly,  and  the  noblest  of 
all  sciences,  in  so  far  as  it  applies  to  the  regulation  of  human 
conduct  that  Eternal  Law  which  "  is  laid  up  in  the  bosom 
of  God."  But,  Gentlemen,  I  pray  you  consider  the  distance 
between  jurisprudence,  so  understood,  and  the  common  law 
of  England  as  patched  from  the  civil  law  and  supplemented 
by  the  Maryland  Code !  Doubtless,  the  common  law,  in 
some  of  its  titles  and  divisions,  may  justly  be  regarded  as 
eminently  scientific.  But  to  call  it,  as  a  whole  and  with  all 
its  modifications,  a  science,  or  the  exposition  of  a  science,  is 
really  to  trifle  and  delude.  The  rhetoricians  who  liken  it 
to  a  great  river,  which  has  brought  down  upon  its  bosom 
all  the  treasures  of  the  realms  of  time  through  which  it  has 
rolled,  seem  to  forget  that  great  rivers  bring  down  many 
things  which  are  not  treasures.  They  forget  the  waters, 
turbid  with  ooze  and  slime — the  worthless  spoil  of  devas- 
tated fields  and  homesteads  ruined — the  floating  rottenness 
and  waste  of  ancient  forests  and  primeval  plains — the  rafts 
that  cumber  the  surface,  and  the  sands  and  stranded  trunks 
that  lie  in  wait  beneath  for  shipwrecks.  I  fear  that  the 
simile,  thus  qualified,  may  be  juster  than  it  seemed  at  first ; 
and  I  gave  you,  a  moment  ago,  the  exact  language  of  some 
of  the  learned  and  able  lawyers  who  participated  in  the  recent 
debate  in  the  House  of  Commons,  in  order  that  I  might  not 
seem  to  be  speaking  with  presumption,  or  to  be  alone  and 


112  COMMENCEMENT 

without  authority,  in  saying  what  some  might  regard  as 
unduly  derogatory  to  the  system  on  which  our  profession 
is  grafted.  Some  uneasy  suspicions  in  the  same  direction 
must  have  crossed  your  own  minds,  I  am  sure,  during  your 
studies,  in  spite  of  the  reverence  you  naturally  felt  for  the 
mysteries  into  which  you  were  about  to  be  initiated.  The 
separation  of  Law  from  Equity  must  have  stricken  a  rude 
blow  at  your  notions  of  juridical  philosophy.  When  you 
were  first  taught  that  a  document  with  a  scrawl  to  it  was  a 
"  sealed  instrument,"  and  of  "  higher  dignity,"  as  such,  than 
a  paper  identical  with  it,  save  as  to  the  hieroglyphic  in  ques- 
tion, your  previous  ideas  of  dignity  must  have  been  very 
much  shaken.  But  when  you  went  further  and  learned  that 
this  dignity  was  no  "  insubstantial  pageant ; "  that  it  dis- 
pensed with  proof  of  consideration ;  that  it  sanctified  a 
promise  otherwise  worthless ;  that  it  implied  priority  of 
satisfaction,  in  certain  cases,  and  gave  the  happy  possessor 
of  the  treasure  four  times  as  long  to  have  the  luxury  of 
suing  as  if  the  mystic  sign  were  away,  you  must  have  had 
some  droll  misgivings  that  your  science,  like  that  of  human 
nature,  belonged  to  the  class  commonly  called  occult.  When 
you  learned  that  an  estate  in  land  for  ninety-nine  years,  renew- 
able for  ever,  subject  to  the  annual  rent  of  a  barley-corn,  was 
not  only  a  lesser  estate  than  one  for  somebody  else's  life,  or 
your  own,  but  was  of  no  higher  respectability  than  a  chattel, 
and  passed  to  the  executor  instead  of  the  heir,  you  must  have 
had  some  difficulty  in  realizing  that  you  were  not  the  victims 
of  a  puzzle.  When  you  were  gravely  taught  by  learned  men 
— who  were  bound  to  teach  it,  whatever  they  might  think 
of  it — that  statutes  derogatory  of  the  common  law  must  be 


ADDRESS.  113 

strictly  construed,  so  as  to  alter  the  law  as  little  as  possible ; 
in  other  words,  that  reformatory  legislation  must  be  prevented, 
as  far  as  practicable,  from  working  the  reform  intended ;  it 
must  have  cost  you  some  time  and  thought,  to  understand 
upon  what  theory  of  longevity  such  a  canon  of  interpretation 
could  have  survived  until  your  time.  Nor  could  the  reasons 
on  which  these  anomalies  are  found  have  bewildered  you  much 
less  than  the  anomalies  themselves.  It  is  difficult  to  be  recon- 
ciled to  the  absurd  and  antiquated  distinctions  between  the 
law  of  real  and  the  law  of  personal  property,  as  administered 
to-day,  and  the  rights  and  remedies  thereon  dependent,  by 
being  told  that  personal  estate,  in  contemplation  of  law,  is  a 
trifling  and  "transient  commodity,"  of  which,  according  to 
Blackstone,  our  heroic  Anglo-Saxon  ancestors  "entertained 
a  very  low  and  contemptuous  opinion."  Such  an  opinion 
was  doubtless  reasonable  enough,  in  the  days  of  King  John, 
when  a  wealthy  Hebrew,  on  a  gridiron,  was  their  only  bank- 
ing institution,  or  even  at  the  more  advanced  and  enlightened 
date,  when  Mr.  Solicitor  Coke  knelt  before  his  virgin  mis- 
tress, and  her  majesty's  first  pair  of  silk  stockings  had  no 
better  carpet  to  be  displayed  on  than  a  handful  of  rushes; 
but  it  is  hardly  respectable,  as  a  scientific  basis  of  right, 
in  these  days  of  coupon-bonds  and  aggregated  capital.  It 
would  be  ludicrous,  if  it  were  not  mortifying,  to  see  the 
most  enlightened  Courts  compelled  every  day,  by  this 
descended  nonsense,  to  hold  that  the  same  words,  in  the 
same  paper,  from  the  hands  and  mind  of  the  same  man, 
and  expressing,  at  the  same  moment,  the  same  purpose  and 
intention,  convey  precisely  opposite  meanings  when  applied 
to  real  and  personal  estate.  Of  a  truth,  Lord  Coke  spake 
15 


114  COMMENCEMENT 

wisely  to  King  James,  when  he  said  that  the  reason  of  the 
law  is  not  "  natural  reason."  It  might  perhaps  require  wis- 
dom beyond  Lord  Coke's  to  show  why  it  should  not  be. 

In  presenting  these  familiar  illustrations  of  the  sort  of 
science  you  are  called  on  to  expound,  I  do  not  seek  merely  to 
make  merry  over  the  imperfections  of  our  nursing  mother. 
It  becomes  you  to  recognize  and  understand  the  defects  of  the 
system  in  whose  service  you  are  about  to  be  enlisted,  so  that 
you  may  do  your  part  towards  leaving  it  better  than  you  find 
it.  You  should  enter  your  profession  with  no  blind  reverence 
for  its  superstitions,  but  with  a  manly  and  rational  respect, 
forbidding  you  to  confound  its  absurdities  with  its  wisdom  or 
to  suppose  that  its  anachronisms  are  of  its  essence.  Nolumus 
mutare  may  have  been  a  wise  resolve,  before  Runnymede,  but 
one  may  be  permitted  to  believe  that  times  have  changed  since 
then.  We  invite  you  therefore  to  a  rational  worship,  and  not 
to  make  fetiches  of  ancient  stocks  and  stones. 

There  is  another  delusion  in  regard  to  your  profession, 
which  presents  itself  on  the  romantic  side.  I  mean  the  notion 
that  lawyers  are  a  sort  of  Round  Table  Knights,  whose  duty 
and  custom  it  is  to  sally  forth,  at  all  times,  championing  the 
right  and  redressing  the  wrong.  There  is  a  popular  impres- 
sion that  even  if  this  be  not  the  case,  it  ought  to  be.  Large 
numbers  of  benevolent  people,  who  would  deliberate  long  and 
seriously  before  employing  you,  themselves,  to  protect  the 
widow  and  the  orphan,  are  full  of  the  charity  which  would 
expect  the  poorest  of  you  to  do  it  at  his  own  expense.  Doubt- 
less such  persons  are  somewhat  kept  in  countenance  by  the 
frequent  and  foolish  claim  to  that  species  of  chivalry,  which 
is  made  in  our  behalf.  To  the  practical  mind,  the  difficulty 


ADDRESS.  1 1 5 

of  providing  sustenance  for  man  and  horse  has  always  l>een 
a  stumbling-block  in  the  way  of  knight-errantry,  and  in  our 
case  it  is  as  formidable  an  obstacle  as  in  any  other.  And 
alas  !  even  when  Sir  Tristram  or  Sir  Lancelot  girds  on  his 
armor,  with  a  righteous  zeal,  and  goes  out  in  pursuit  of  the 
oppressor,  is  not  Sir  Pel  leas  or  Sir  Percevale  retained  for  the 
knave,  and  does  not  one  of  them  sit  mounted  at  his  gate,  with 
his  very  best  lance  in  rest?  Nay,  if  Lancelot  and  Tristram, 
themselves,  had  been  spoken  to  in  time,  are  there  not  many 
chances  that  they  would  have  been  upon  the  other  side? 
They  would  perhaps  have  thought  better  of  the  oppressor,  in 
that  event ;  for  we  see  much  more  clearly  through  the  glass, 
when  we  are  inside  the  house,  than  when  we  look  in  from 
without.  The  time  has  never  been,  I  glory  in  saying,  when 
the  right  has  fallen  to  the  ground  for  the  lack  of  a  lawyer  to 
defend  it,  at  any  and  every  cost,  whether  of  liberty,  or  life, 
or  toil,  or  fortune.  But  the  honor  belongs  altogether  to  the 
noble  men  who  do  these  good  works.  It  is  an  honor  which 
they  reflect  on  the  profession — not  honor  borrowed  from  it. 
They  are  brave  men,  who  in  any  other  condition  or  calling 
would  have  stood  up  for  the  weak  against  the  strong — devoted 
men,  who  would  have  felt,  anywhere,  that  the  charities  of  life 
are  the  chiefest  of  its  duties  and  its  pleasures.  All  that  they 
owe  to  their  profession  is  the  opportunity  which  it  affords 
them — the  learning,  the  discipline  and  the  experience  which 
make  their  energy  efficient — the  countenance  and  sympathy 
which  uphold  their  hands. 

Germane  to  this  subject  is  another  professional  pretension, 
which  it  seems  to  me  that  candor  does  not  justify — at  all 
events,  in  the  broad  sense  in  which  it  is  generally  urged.  I 


116  COMMENCEMENT 

refer  to  the  claim,  so  commonly  set  up  on  behalf  of  the  Bar, 
that  the  world  is  indebted  to  it  for  free  institutions  and  their 
preservation.  Here,  again,  I  am  persuaded  that  the  glory 
belongs  to  individuals  and  not  to  the  profession.  What  the 
Barons  of  England  crushed  with  their  gauntleted  hands,  were 
but  the  long  contrived  devices  of  lawyers,  who  had  pandered 
to  usurpation.  Hume  speaks  but  the  truth,  when  he  tells  us 
that  the  great  rights  established  and  consecrated  by  Magna 
Charta  had  to  struggle  long  "  with  the  chicanery  of  lawyers, 
supported  by  the  influence  of  power."  Go  over  the  whole 
history  of  English  freedom,  and  ever  against  the  illustrious 
champions  in  whose  fame  we  rejoice,  you  will  find  a  herd 
arrayed,  of  "  vile  prerogative  fellows  " — equally  the  offspring 
of  your  profession  and  full  of  its  learning  and  intellect — who 
wrought  all  night,  like  Penelope,  to  unravel  the  shroud  which 
genius  and  courage  had  woven,  all  day,  for  tyranny.  Turn 
back  a  quarter  of  a  century  before  the  day  when  Lord  Coke 
became  immortal  as  the  framer  of  the  Petition  of  Right,  and 
you  will  blush  to  see  him,  as  Solicitor  General  of  "  that  thrice 
noble  and  vertuous  Queen  Elizabeth,  of  ever  blessed  memory," 
and  Speaker  of  her  faithful  Commons,  engineering  her  subsidy- 
bills  through  the  House,  like  a  slave,  and  laying  the  lives  of 
himself  and  his  fellows  "  prostrate  at  her  feet  to  be  com- 
manded." You  remember,  how,  even  in  his  old  age,  in  the 
Preface  to  the  First  Institute,  lie  chatters  about  her  "  roseal 
beauty" — but  that  is  nothing  to  the  adulation  with  which 
Mr.  Speaker  grovelled  before  her,  and  told  her  how  "  under 
her  happy  government,  they  lived  upon  honey,  and  sucked 
upon  every  sweet  flower."  For  himself,  he  assured  her  that 
he  was  but  a  corpus  opacum,  in  the  absence  of  her  "  bright 


ADDRESS.  117 

shilling  wisdom."  He  must  have  been  more  opaque  than  he- 
said,  if  her  thrice  virtuous  Majesty  did  not  see  through  all  that. 

But  why  should  we  go  back  to  the  Tudors  for  proof  that 
the  learning  and  ability  of  your  profession  are  not  always 
with  right  and  liberty  against  power?  Young  as  you  are, 
the  annals  of  your  own  times  and  your  own  land  are  full 
of  the  sad  story  of  professional  subserviency,  cowardice  and 
prostitution.  It  is  part  of  the  history  which  you  have  been 
compelled  to  read.  It  is  bound  up  with  the  law  which  you 
have  had  to  study.  You  cannot  escape  it  in  the  judgments 
of  tribunals,  alas  !  too  many  and  too  high.  You  must  sigh 
over  it,  in  the  altered  Constitution  of  your  country. 

And  this  brings  me  to  another  and  like  theme — the  tradi- 
tional and  glorified  image  of  the  advocate — not  in  his  capacity 
of  legislator  and  popular  leader,  but  in  his  place  at  the  bar, 
vindicating  the  rights  of  the  citizen  against  the  power  and  the 
malice  of  rulers.  I  touch  this  illusion  with  reluctance,  for  I 
have  not  forgotten  the  kindling  of  the  imagination  at  the 
eloquence  of  Curran  or  of  Erskine,  which  lights  and  warms 
the  hopes  and  the  ambition  of  early  and  generous  manhood. 
I  know  how  the  pulse  quickens,  and  the  heart  swells — how 
the  very  soul  rises  up,  with  the  dream  and  the  longing,  that 
some  day  or  other  the  time  may  come,  when  we  too  shall  have 
our  chance  of  fighting  that  glorious  fight,  and  fighting  it  to 
win  or  die.  I  know  how  even  the  dull  brain  persuades  itself 
that  great  thoughts  might  be  struck  from  it  by  the  collisions 

c1  O  O  * 

of  such  a  conflict,  and  the  torpid  tongue  feels  as  if,  in  such 
an  hour,  it  too  might  be  cloven  and  aflame.  Thanks  to  our 
better  nature  for  such  dreams  and  such  ambitious,  which  lift 
us  on  their  wings  above  all  that  is  sordid  and  mean  !  And  yet 


118  COMMENCEMENT 

I  fear  that,  like  too  many  of  the  creatures  of  enthusiasm,  they 
fade  away,  because  they  are  dreams  only.  We  are  stirred,  as 
with  a  trumpet,  by  the  words  of  the  great  English  advocates 
whom  we  revere,  but  we  forget  the  eminent  crown-counsel, 
our  brethren  likewise,  whose  story,  good  or  bad,  is  a  part  of 
the  record  of  our  profession,  and  who  fought  for  the  wrong 
as  our  champions  for  the  right.  We  forget  Raleigh,  when  we 
remember  Coke,  but  history  has  a  better  memory,  and  the 
strident  voice  of  Mr.  Attorney  as  he  shouts  to  his  victim — 
"  thou  spider  of  hell ! " — will  float  on  its  echoes  in  shame 
forever.  Nor,  strange  as  it  may  seem,  can  we  expect  in  this 
country  the  same  opportunities  of  distinction  which  arose  in 
England  in  so  many  cases  now  historical.  Indeed,  even  there 
they  can  seldom  again  occur,  popularized  as  British  institu- 
tions have  become.  What  we  are  still  pleased  to  call  a  repub- 
lican system,  here,  is  approaching  nearer,  day  by  day,  to  a 
pure  democracy.  We  cannot  all  meet  in  one  place,  as  they 
did  in  the  classic  times,  and  legislate  and  adjudicate  by  simple 
outcry.  But  we  are  endeavoring  to  approach  that  happy 
condition,  as  nearly  as  our  territory  and  population  will  allow, 
and  every  department  of  government  is  expected  practically 
to  represent  the  will  of  the  majority,  even  if  it  be  but  a 
majority  of  one.  What  is  expected  in  that  way,  we  know, 
from  experience,  generally  happens  after  a  while;  and  it  may 
be  regarded  as  established  doctrine,  that  constitutions  should 
(or  at  all  events  will)  interpose  no  permanent  obstacle  to  its 
happening.  In  ordinary  times,  when  passion  is  asleep  and 
fellow-countrymen  are  content  to  make  money  out  of  each 
other  and  be  fraternal  and  happy,  the  majority  do  not  desire 
to  oppress  the  minority,  except  perhaps  in  the  way  of  business. 


ADDRESS.  119 

There  is  then  no  room  for  championship,  because  there  are  no 
victims,  and  all  goes  "  merry  as  a  marriage  bell."  In  such 
times,  we  roam  in  the  Elysian  fields  of  democracy  and  justly 
call  them  blessed — little  thinking  how  near  we  are  to  another 
and  a  different  place  in  the  Plutonian  realm.  But  let  strife 
come,  and  bitterness  and  blood,  and  there  is  no  despot  like  a 
majority  enthroned.  A  mob  in  its  wrath  is  the  wildest  of 
wild  beasts,  and  it  is  none  the  less  savage,  when  its  ferocity  is 
formalized  into  law,  and  it  rends  its  victims  with  the  cold, 
hard  hands  of  what  it  calls  its  justice.  There  is  no  place  for 
the  advocate  then.  His  eloquence  is  a  vain  breath,  and  his 
courage,  at  best,  but  a  noble  insignificance.  The  divinest  of 
divine  rights  is  against  him,  and  the  very  "Palladium"  itself 
is  a  part  of  the  enraged  divinity.  The  voice  of  the  people — is 
it  not  the  voice  of  God  ?  And  is  not  the  majority  the  people  ? 
Having  felt  it  my  duty  to  say  thus  much  to  you  of  what 
may  perhaps  have  been  in  some  regards  discouraging,  I 
rejoice  that  Ave  can  still  welcome  you  to  a  profession  which, 
stripped  of  all  false  pretences  and  exaggerations,  is  worthy 
your  best  faculties,  your  highest  qualities,  your  complete  and 
earnest  self-dedication  and  devotion.  Its  influences  are  as 
wide  as  society.  Its  duties  are  arduous,  elevated,  delicate 
and  responsible.  Its  honors  and  rewards,  when  fairly  sought 
and  earned,  may  fill  the  measure  of  a  great  ambition.  You 
cannot  be  too  wise,  too  learned,  or  too  virtuous  for  it.  You 
can  make  all  knowledge  tributary  to  it,  and  yet  not  tran- 
scend its  compass.  With  the  common  midnight  oil  of  its 
lamp  you  may  burn  the  most  precious  perfumes,  and  yet  not 
waste  them.  On  the  other  hand,  I  am  bound  to  say  that  it 
is  a  calling  which  you  can  readily  degrade,  degrading  your- 


120  COMMENCEMENT 

selves  along  with  it.  Instead  of  an  honorable  and  liberal 
profession,  you  may  convert  it,  with  fatal  ease,  into  a  sordid 
trade,  wrhich  no  talent  can  dignify,  no  eminence  can  make 
other  than  corrupting  and  corrupt. 

You  must  bear  in  mind  that  although  yours  is  a  learned 
profession,  it  is  an  eminently  practical  one — living  and  mov- 
ing and  never  standing  still.  Its  archaeology  therefore  belongs 
to  its  literature,  rather  than  its  life.  You  have  no  time  to 
waste  on  its  quaint  pedantries  and  scholastic  riddles.  Petere 
fontes  quam  sectari  rivulos  is  a  very  good  maxim,  but  it  must 
not  be  too  literally  followed.  It  is  well  to  know  the  heads 
of  the  streams  and  what  is  to  be  found  there,  but  you  cannot 
afford  to  sit  angling,  with  Piscator  and  Venator,  by  the  water- 
side, and  meditating  under  the  willows.  You  are  to  be  men 
of  active  thought — not  antiquarians.  You  must  keep  your 
every-day  faculties  bright  for  every  day  use,  and  train  them 
to  keep  pace  with  every  day's  progress.  More  than  any 
other  quality  or  condition  of  mind,  your  profession  demands 
that  enlightened  practical  sagacity  which  is  known  as  common 
sense.  Do  not  misunderstand  me.  Your  merely  practical 
men  are  useful,  doubtless,  and  often  successful,  in  their  way. 
But  they  are,  for  the  most  part,  little  and  contracted — excel- 
lent and  worthy  drudges  if  they  are  good  men — almost  inevit- 
ably pettifoggers,  unless  under  remarkable  moral  restraint. 
When,  therefore,  I  exalt  common  sense,  I  do  not  speak  of 
the  small  sense  of  that  class  of  people.  I  mean  the  large 
assimilative  faculty,  which  digests  the  learning  of  the  pro- 
fession into  solid  and  useful  food — which  extracts  substantial 
knowledge  from  study,  and  not  theories  or  speculations — which 
makes  the  intellect  capacious  and  healthy,  cleaning  it  wholly 


ADDRESS.  121 

of  cobwebs  and  crotchets.  It  has  been  otherwise  forcibly 
described  as  "rectitude  of  understanding."  All  cannot  pos- 
sess it  in  its  highest,  or  indeed  in  a  high  degree,  but  all 
should  strive  to  cultivate  it  and  develop  it.  Without  it,  you 
may  go  on  studying  more  and  more  and  knowing  less  and  less, 
every  day,  for  all  useful  purposes,  until  your  minds  become 
as  crowded  and  confused  as  the  last  edition  of  a  popular  and 
much-edited  text-book. 

But  although  what  I  have  just  said  is  universally  true  in 
our  profession,  it  is  still  proper  to  observe,  that  we  are  apt 
to  generalize  too  much  in  speaking  of  the  faculties  and  quali- 
ties which  it  demands — as  if  all  its  departments  required  the 
same  gifts.  This  is  as  far  as  possible  from  being  true.  In 
this  country,  and  notably  in  this  State,  the  organization  of 
the  profession  is  so  imperfect,  and  there  is  so  little  distribu- 
tion of  its  various  functions,  that  almost  every  lawyer  is 
compelled  to  prepare  himself,  well  or  ill,  for  the  labors  of 
every  department.  It  is  only  in  very  exceptional  cases,  and 
where  there  is  great  good  fortune  as  well  as  peculiar  ability 
and  adaptation,  that  a  Maryland  lawyer  is  able  to  choose  his 
own  path  altogether — unless  indeed  he  selects  the  humblest. 
This  is  a  great  evil,  of  course,  and  our  community,  until  of 
late,  has  been  too  small  to  justify  us  in  attempting  to  remove 
it.  It  not  only  prevents  that  concentration  of  thought  and 
pursuit  which  is  necessary  to  the  highest  excellence,  but 
renders  burdensome,  almost  beyond  endurance,  the  toil  of 
an  ordinarily  successful  career.  In  the  absence  of  a  proper 
professional  classification,  the  wisest  thing  you  cau  do  is  to 
endeavor  to  classify  yourselves — to  find  out  what  you  are 
best  fitted  for,  and  devote  yourselves  to  it.  How  many  of 
16 


122  COMMENCEMENT 

our  brethren  do  we  not  daily  see,  who  waste,  in  the  struggles 
of  the  trial-table,  for  which  they  are  wholly  unfit,  abilities 
which  would  yield  them  reputation,  in  the  quiet  of  chambers  ? 
How  many,  whose  tact  and  cleverness  would  give  them  name 
and  place  at  the  bar,  are  digging  and  delving,  in  hopeless 
drudgery,  perhaps  self-imposed?  Of  course,  it  is  not  the 
easiest  thing  in  the  world  for  a  man  to  measure  his  own 
abilities  fairly,  and  there  is  nothing  about  which  the  public 
is  more  apt  to  differ  from  us  than  the  estimate  we  place  upon 
ourselves.  There  is  some  consolation,  it  is  true,  in  knowing 
that  the  public  judgment  is  not  always  very  enlightened  or 
discriminating.  It  sometimes  assigns  us  places  for  which 
even  we  ourselves  know  that  we  are  wholly  unfit.  Indeed 
it  is  often  surprising  to  see  how  men  will  deliberately  select 
blind  guides,  who  lead  them  into  the  ditch,  and  into  how 
many  ditches  some  men  will  consent  to  be  led.  It  is  one  of 
the  hardest  trials,  for  young  men  of  real  ability,  to  have  to 
witness  such  exhibitions,  yet  you  will  have  to  witness  them 
and  be  patient.  The  best  use  that  you  can  make  of  the 
inevitable  season  of  hope  deferred,  is  to  study  yourselves :  to 
find  out,  by  honest,  manly  self-examination,  what  you  are 
best  fitted  for,  so  that,  when  you  see  your  opportunity,  you 
may  know  it  and  seize  it.  I  do  not  mean  that  you  should 
yield  to  the  temptation  of  subsiding  into  what  is  easiest,  any 
more  than  that  you  should  commit  the  folly  of  aspiring  to 
what  is  beyond  your  reach.  Earnest  and  continued  effort 
will  often  develop  into  great  effectiveness,  powers  of  which 
men  were  hardly  conscious  at  the  beginning — just  as  con- 
spicuous failure  will  demonstrate  the  delusion  under  which 
they  have  exaggerated  their  abilities.  But,  be  assured  that 


ADDRESS.  123 

nothing  worse  can  happen  to  any  man,  young  or  old,  in  the 
matter  of  which  I  speak,  than  to  persuade  himself  that  he  is 
an  admirable  Crichton  and  can  develop  himself  into  anything 
he  pleases  to  be.  In  such  case,  he  is  apt  to  be  developed  into 
nothing  but  a  warning  to  others. 

After  what  has  been  told  you  of  the  scope  and  dignity  of 
your  profession,  it  will  perhaps  seem  paradoxical  in  me  to 
say,  that  some  of  the  highest  intellectual  and  moral  qualities 
which  you  possess  may  perhaps  partially  disqualify  you  for 
success,  and  especially  as  advocates.  Nevertheless,  it  is  true, 
and  to  feel  it  is  another  of  the  most  trying  experiences  through 
which  young  men  of  merit  can  pass.  Although  the  scheme  of 
our  calling  has  been  framed  with  great  wisdom  for  the  attain- 
ment of  truth  and  justice,  it  is  nevertheless  an  artificial  scheme, 
and  hence  is  much  misunderstood.  No  one  has  described  it 
better  than  Sydney  Smith — no  one  so  well,  to  my  knowledge. 
In  his  remarkable  sermon,  entitled  "  The  Lawyer  that  Tempted 
Christ,"  he  says  that,  "  Justice  is  found  experimentally  to  be 
most  effectually  promoted  by  the  opposite  efforts  of  practised 
and  ingenious  men,  presenting,  to  the  selection  of  an  impartial 
judge,  the  best  arguments  for  the  establishment  and  explana- 
tion of  truth.  It  becomes,  then,  under  such  an  arrangement, 
the  decided  duty  of  an  advocate  to  use  all  the  arguments  in 
his  power  to  defend  the  cause  he  has  adopted,  and  leave  the 
effects  of  those  arguments  to  the  judgment  of  others."  Thus 
it  will  be  seen  that  our  function,  as  advocates,  is  one  of  per- 
suasion rather  than  of  demonstration — to  illustrate,  discuss, 
convince,  not  to  ordain  or  to  establish.  We  deal,  forensically, 
with  arguments  concerning  truth,  rather  than  with  truths. 
Now,  although  many  ingenious  men  are  undoubtedly  deluded 


124  COMMENCEMENT 

and  misled  by  their  own  ingenuity,  I  fancy  that  he  discusses 
truth  best — he  presents  the  views  and  arguments  most  ably, 
by  which  others  are  to  arrive  at  it — who  has  sought  after 
it  most  earnestly,  and  understands  it  best  himself.  While, 
therefore,  it  is  undoubtedly  the  fact,  as  the  wise  preacher  adds, 
that  this  practice  of  an  advocate  is  not  without  danger  to  the 
individual,  however  useful  it  may  be  for  the  administration 
of  public  justice,  I  am  sure  that  it  is  compatible  with  the 
highest  sense  of  truth  and  the  manliest  respect  for  it.  I  am 
confident  that  the  intellects  and  the  principles  which  are  safest 
from  danger  because  of  it,  are  those  of  the  ablest  and  best 
and  most  successful  advocates.  Nevertheless,  there  are  minds 
and  characters  of  high  order,  which  are  not  plastic  enough  to 
adapt  themselves  to  it.  There  are  many  men  whose  con- 
sciences are  no  tenderer  than  those  of  their  fellows,  but  whose 
minds  are  so  constituted  that  they  cannot  reason,  except  in 
the  direction  of  their  own  convictions  or  conclusions.  There 
are  others,  whose  instincts  embarrass  them  in  doing  this,  even 
when  they  are  satisfied  that  it  is  their  duty  to  do  it.  An 
observation  recently  made,  in  a  leading  English  periodical, 
concerning  the  late  Earl  of  Elgin,  will  fully  illustrate  my 
meaning.  "  He  would  have  failed  utterly  as  a  professional 
advocate,"  the  writer  states,  "  from  his  inability,  even  for  the 
sake  of  argument,  to  look  at  one  side  of  a  question  only  and 
close  his  eyes  to  the  other.  His  intellectual  and  moral  con- 
stitution rendered  it  impossible  for  him  to  see  a  truth  and 
conceal  it."  This  is  a  portrait  of  a  wise  and  great  character,  or 
of  an  extremely  impracticable  one,  according  to  circumstances. 
Such  traits  may  give  us  a  great  moralist  or  a  mere  dogmatist — 
an  enlightened  judge  or  a  perpetual  doubter  and  dissenter. 


ADDRESS.  125 

With  large  and  vigorous  intellect — great  energy  and  wisdom, 
and  an  instinctive  perception  of  truth  and  right — men  of  that 
stamp  may  lead  the  thought  and  mould  the  temper  of  a 
century.  With  more  limited  faculties  and  a  less  ample  nature, 
they  are  apt  to  stand  in  the  world's  way — the  victims  of  their 
own  scruples  and  the  chief  disciples  of  their  own  opinions. 
When  an  ordinary  man  is  so  sure  of  himself  as  to  exclude 
from  the  possible  categories  of  truth  all  that  does  not  seem 
true  to  him,  his  intellect  is  at  least  in  no  great  danger  of 
suffering  from  over-expansion. 

But,  whatever  be  the  gifts  of  this  class  of  minds,  they  are 
certainly  not  those  of  the  advocate.  It  may  be  a  compliment 
to  them  to  say  this;  but  for  us  who  are  considering  the  ele- 
ments of  professional  success,  it  is  sufficient  to  know  that  they 
will  find  their  idiosyncrasies  an  obstacle — none  the  less  per- 
plexing, perhaps,  from  being  worthy  of  respect.  They  lose 
sight  of  the  fact  that  the  questions  they  are  discussing  are 
often  new  and  therefore  speculative ;  that  the  truths  involved, 
most  commonly,  are  purely  artificial.  They  will  accordingly 
hesitate — or  scorn,  if  you  please — to  address  arguments  to  the 
judgment  of  others,  which  do  not  convince  their  own.  They 
will  shrink  from  advancing  theories  which  they  feel  or  sus- 
pect to  be  fallacious.  They  will  restrain  suggestions,  perhaps 
conclusive  to  others,  because  they  would  not  themselves  adopt 
them.  Now,  there  might  be  some  reason  why  counsel  should 
be  silent,  when  they  think  themselves  in  the  wrong,  if  they 
were  always  in  the  right  when  they  believed  themselves  to  be 
so.  Unhappily,  this  is  not  the  case.  I  will  not  speak  of 
juries — for  their  ways  are  too  much  in  the  depths  of  the 
sea — but  the  Courts  are  constantly  teaching  us  the  vanity 


126  COMMENCEMENT 

of  our  conclusions — overruling  us,  when  we  are  most  firmly 
persuaded  of  success,  and  then  kindly  refusing  to  share  our 
doubts,  when  we  are  half-persuaded  they  are  insurmountable. 
If,  therefore,  we  have  nothing  to  urge  on  their  consideration 
but  our  own  convictions,  we  are  fighting  a  one-sided  battle 
and  asserting  our  infallibility  at  the  cost  of  our  clients.  I 
have  known  causes  lost  by  capable  men,  for  no  other  reason 
than  that  they  were  too  fully  convinced  of  the  conclusiveness 
of  a  favorite  point,  to  feel  the  necessity  of  urging  others 
equally  obvious.  They  forgot  that  it  was  their  business  to 
convince  other  people  and  not  themselves  merely,  and  that 
all  minds  are  not  alike. 

You  may  perhaps  make  another  discovery,  early  in  your 
practice,  quite  as  disheartening  as  the  fact  which  we  have 
just  been  considering.  You  may  find  that  the  tastes  and 
the  accomplishments  which  nature  and  education  have  given 
you  will  not  always  hasten — nay,  possibly,  may  retard — your 
advancement.  A  young  man  of  high  culture  and  self-respect 
must  shrink,  in  spite  of  him,  from  many  of  the  first  lessons 
of  his  experience.  He  will  find  himself  expected,  yet  utterly 
unable,  to  welcome  and  embrace  things  which  repel  and  dis- 
gust him.  He  will  be  ashamed  to  surrender  himself  to  the 
tawdry  and  threadbare  commonplaces  and  conventionalities 
which  enter  so  largely  into  a  certain  department  of  forensic 
discussion.  He  will  almost  envy  the  dulness  which  is  uncon- 
scious of  its  self-exposure,  and  the  ignorance  which  runs  on, 
because  it  does  not  know  when  it  has  run  out.  He  will 
wonder,  painfully,  whether  he  can  ever  descend  to  the  charla- 
tanism and  the  fustian  which  he  hears  applauded  to  the  echo, 
if  not  by  the  judicious  who  grieve,  yet  at  least  by  the  ground- 


ADDRESS.  127 

lings  who  pay.  He  may  sit — happy  is  he  who  does  not 
remember  those  weary  and  repining  days — he  may  sit,  idle 
and  poor,  while  incompetence  and  audacity  advertise  them- 
selves and  prosper,  till  he  feels  almost  ready  to  curse,  in 
his  despair,  the  very  excellences  which  were  the  goal  and 
the  ambition  of  his  youth. 

Nor  am  I  sure  that  you  will  always  find,  even  among  the 
elders  of  your  calling,  that  encouragement  and  countenance, 
in  this  regard,  which  might  be  expected  from  the  leaders  of  a 
liberal  profession.  It  is  not  to  be  disguised  that  there  is  a 
superstition  still  haunting  the  bar  of  this  country — though  in 
England  it  has  nearly  disappeared  and  on  the  Continent  never 
existed — that  a  man  cannot  know  much  law,  who  knows 
much  of  anything  else.  There  are  many  able  and  successful 
lawyers  who  devoutly  believe  of  the  law,  as  certain  Mahom- 
medan  sectaries  of  the  Koran,  that  there  is  nothing  written 
outside  of  it  which  is  good,  and  it  is  therefore  sinful  to  read 
any  thing  which  is  not  in  it.  You  will  of  course  rarely  hear 
this  proposition  so  nakedly  or  frankly  stated ;  but  you  will 
assuredly  have  to  meet  and  overcome,  as  best  you  may,  a 
quiet  and  perpetual,  and  doubtless  a  sincere  disparagement 
of  your  professional  ability,  proportionate  to  the  culture  and 
accomplishments  with  which  you  may  be  able  to  adorn  it.  I 
trust  that  you  will  have  the  manliness  to  succumb  to  no  such 
prejudices,  but  will  take  your  part,  as  enlightened  and  educated 
gentlemen,  in  relegating  them  to  the  barbarism  from  which 
they  are  descended.  It  may  be  that  Lord  Bolingbroke  spoke 
rather  in  excess,  when  he  recorded  his  opinion,  that  "  unless 
men  prepare  themselves  for  this  profession  by  climbing  what 
Lord  Bacon  calls  the  vantage  grounds,  Law  is  scarce  worthy 


128  COMMENCEMENT 

a  place  among  the  learned  professions — it  degenerates  into  the 
practice  of  the  grovelling  arts  of  chicane."  His  Lordship 
perhaps  attributed,  as  was  his  wont,  too  exclusive  a  control  to 
merely  intellectual  restraints.  A  greater  than  he  has  told  us, 
with  a  wiser  and  more  courtly  moderation,  what  every  man 
among  us  \vho  strives  to  know  himself,  must  know  to  be  the 
unexaggerated  truth.  "  He  was  bred  to  the  law,"  says  Mr. 
Burke,  in  speaking  of  Mr.  Grenville,  "which  is,  in  my  opinion, 
one  of  the  first  and  noblest  of  human  sciences — a  science 
which  does  more  to  quicken  and  invigorate  the  understanding 
than  all  other  kinds  of  learning  put  together ;  but  it  is  not 
apt,  except  in  persons  very  happily  born,  to  open  and  liberalize 
the  mind  precisely  in  the  same  proportion."  And  it  is  because 
the  study  and  the  practice  of  your  profession  thus  tend  to 
narrow  and  not  to  liberalize  the  understanding,  that  you  must 
keep  it  broad  and  liberal,  if  you  can,  by  wider  and  less  arti- 
ficial thought.  You  shall  soon  cease  to  know  Hercules  by 
his  foot,  if  it  be  kept  cramped  and  bandaged  like  a  Chinese 
woman's.  No,  gentlemen  !  Your  profession  calls  upon  you 
for  no  sacrifice  of  your  best  gifts  and  powers.  There  is 
room  for  all  of  them  within  it,  unless  pedantry  has  the 
making  of  its  pale.  There  is  scope  in  it  for  Fancy  and  her 
nobler  sister  Imagination.  There  is  room  for  all  literature, 
all  science  and  every  liberal  art.  There  is  field  for  Wit 
and  for  Humor,  for  Taste  and  Grace — for  all  that  is  splendid 
in  the  mastery  of  Eloquence — all  that  can  influence  the 
human  mind  and  penetrate  and  control  the  human  heart. 
History  has  no  record  of  an  advocate  whose  genius  and 
culture  were  above  his  office ;  and  it  is  in  part  the  fault 
of  just  such  prejudice  as  I  am  combating,  that  we  have  so 


ADDRESS.  1 29 

few  in   the  country,  to-day,  who  approach   the   level   of   its 
real  greatness. 

There  is  a  consolation  in  reflecting,  that  when  you  are 
called  to  overcome  difficulties  such  as  have  been  alluded  to, 
and  others  like  them,  you  arc  required  to  do  no  more  than 
your  brethren  have  done  before  you.  I  have  seen  a  charming 
French  vaudeville,  the  whole  point  of  which  is  in  the  contrast 
between  two  lovers,  one  of  whom  loses  all  his  ardor  as  soon 
as  he  meets  with  an  obstruction,  while  the  other  grows  as  cold 
as  Plato  the  very  moment  that  obstacles  disappear.  The 
devotion  of  the  most  ardent  worshippers  of  jurisprudence  is 
hardly  passionate  enough  to  develop  such  vivid  contrasts  in 
our  professional  drama ;  but,  in  the  main,  the  men  who  win 
the  favors  of  our  "jealous  mistress/'  are  they  whom  difficulties 
only  brace  to  resolution.  Given  a  certain  amount  of  good 
sense,  force,  and  education,  and — accident  apart — the  rest  is 
matter  of  perseverance,  industry  and  courage.  It  may  not 
be  to-day,  nor  to-morrow — it  perhaps  may  never  be.  We 
witness  too  many  shipwrecks,  to  dare  foretell  a  prosperous 
voyage  for  every  gallant  bark  that  we  "  see  from  the  beach 
when  the  morning  is  shining."  Still,  we  have  the  happiness 
to  know,  that  sooner  or  later,  and  with  reasonable  certainty, 
success  generally  comes  when  it  is  deserved — though  it  often- 
times may  come  when  it  is  not. 

But,  gentlemen,  what  is  success  in  your  profession  ?  Upon 
the  answer  which  you  give  that  question,  in  your  hearts  and 
minds,  will  depend  all  of  the  career  in  which  this  is  your 
first  step  before  the  world.  If  success  means  to  you  only 
business,  and  business,  according  to  the  clever  sarcasm  of 
Dumas,  means  to  you  only  "  other  people's  money,"  you  are 
17 


130  COMMENCEMENT 

wasting  your  time  with  professors  and  diplomas.  You  can 
attain  the  ends  of  such  an  enterprise,  by  shorter  processes 
and  simpler  ways  than  any  taught  in  universities.  Do  not 
imagine  that  I  can  so  far  forget  my  duty  as  to  perplex  you 
with  cant  and  sentimentalism  on  an  occasion  like  this,  instead 
of  practical  and  healthy  counsel.  I  know  that  you  are  begin- 
ning the  serious  task  of  your  lives — your  struggle  for  a  place 
among  your  fellows,  and  for  bread.  I  recognize  pecuniary 
reward  as  not  only  fit  to  be  within  your  professional  pur- 
poses and  just  contemplation,  as  a  right  and  a  possession, 
but  as  a  means  of  that  personal  independence  which  is  the 
most  "glorious  privilege"  of  manhood.  When  my  Lord 
Chief  Justice  Montagu  said,  at  his  installation,  "  I  have  no 
need  to  be  corrupt,  neither  in  action  nor  affection,  for  I  have 
estate  sufficient,"  he  spoke,  if  in  no  higher  spirit,  at  least  as  a 
man  of  sense  and  of  the  world,  who  knew  and  acknowledged 
the  weakness  of  our  nature  and  the  supports  which  it  needs, 
at  the  best.  It  is  no  part  of  my  purpose,  therefore,  to  dis- 
parage, in  the  slightest  degree,  the  manly  and  reasonable 
pursuit  of  professional  emolument.  It  is  your  right,  as  I 
have  said,  and  you  should  insist  on  it,  whenever  it  is  a 
question  of  mere  right,  and  higher  considerations  do  not 
make  it  your  pleasure  or  duty  to  resign  it.  You  will  find 
strange  notions  on  the  subject  in  the  community.  Gentlemen, 
in  other  walks  of  life,  your  own  contemporaries,  entering  upon 
their  vocations  side  by  side  with  you — your  superiors  in  no 
regard  certainly,  not  even  in  the  moneyed  capital  with  which 
they  begin  their  career — will  measure  your  labors  and  efforts, 
years  hence,  by  a  scale  which  it  would  cause  them  great  indig- 
nation to  have  applied  to  their  own  daily  commercial  trausac- 


ADDRESS.  131 

tions.  They  will  earn,  in  an  hour,  by  a  single  effort  of 
mercantile  sagacity,  or  a  single  act  of  mercantile  trust,  what 
would  pay  you,  richly,  for  a  half  year's  income,  and  yet 
wonder  at  the  exorbitance  of  your  comparatively  moderate 
demands,  for  the  most  devoted  and  successful  exertion  of  the 
highest  professional  ability.  Some  men  seem  to  think  that 
only  money  ought  to  breed  money,  and  cannot  understand 
that  the  investment  of  character  as  high  as  theirs,  in  a  calling 
infinitely  more  laborious  than  theirs,  requiring  ten-fold  the 
learning  and  faculties  which  are  needed  in  theirs,  ought  to 
yield  at  least  as  large  return  as  theirs,  when  the  harvest-sun 
is  on  the  grain.  They  are  almost  like  the  Arab,  whom  Dr. 
Hogg,  the  companion  of  Lamartine  in  the  East,  had  cured  of 
a  serious  malady.  As  soon  as  the  patient  grew  strong  enough 
to  walk,  he  called  on  his  physician  for  a  present,  and  was 
lofty  and  indignant  when  refused.  "  I  had  hoped,"  he  said, 
"  to  find  you  more  disposed  to  show  your  gratitude  to  God, 
for  having  made  you  wise  enough  to  cure  such  dreadful  dis- 
eases." It  is  astonishing  how  many  persons  think  that  virtue 
and  knowledge  are  their  own  sufficient  reward,  when  they 
would  otherwise  have  to  pay  the  reward  themselves.  If, 
then,  fees  come  honestly  and  fairly  in — fill  your  skull-caps 
with  them,  if  you  have  any,  like  my  Lord  Keeper  Guilford, 
and  temper  your  exultation,  if  need  be,  as  he  did,  by  reading 
Littleton's  Tenures  every  Christmas. 

What  is  to  be  shunned  and  deprecated  is  not  that.  It  is 
the  surrender  and  subordination  of  your  profession  and  your- 
selves to  gain — the  abandonment  of  your  dignity  and  freedom 
to  mere  money-making  and  the  base  arts  which  are  almost 
inseparable  from  such  degradation  of  a  liberal  calling.  It 


132  COMMENCEMENT 

is  a  common  thing  to  say  that  ours  is  a  specially  money- 
loving  age.  I  doubt  whether  this  is  true — whether  men  are 
at  all  worse  in  that  regard,  to-day,  than  they  have  always 
been,  since  the  root  of  all  evil  was  planted.  In  one  of  the 
recently  opened  houses  in  Pompeii,  a  mosaic  pavement  has 
been  found,  in  the  centre  of  which,  in  large  letters,  is  the 
motto,  "  Salve  Lucrum."  Such  a  profession  of  faith,  on  the 
part  of  the  luxurious  Roman  whom  the  ashes  of  Vesuvius 
overwhelmed  with  his  lucre,  was  only  a  superfluous  and 
ostentatious  piece  of  candor.  Perhaps,  like  Lord  Byron, 
he  desired  to  be  taken  for  something  worse  than  he  was. 
But  he  scarcely  loved  money  any  more  than  a  robber  baron 
or  a  Lombard  usurer,  or  any  less  than  a  Wall  Street  financier 
or  a  lender  on  "approved  collaterals."  The  curse  of  our 
times  is  not  the  mere  love  of  acquisition,  nor  of  money  as  a 
treasure  and  possession,  but  the  self-prostration  of  society 
before  it,  as  a  dignity,  a  principality  and  a  power.  The 
Roman  was  content  to  print  his  text  on  the  stones,  and 
tread  it  beneath  his  feet  in  the  revel.  In  our  times,  we 
reverence  the  wisdom  which,  in  Poor  Richard's  Almanack, 
expanded  it  into  a  gospel  and  founded  on  it  a  religion,  whose 
first  and  great  commandments  are  multiplication  and  addi- 
tion. And  it  is  because  money  is,  thus,  not  merely  the 
object  of  a  common  human  lust  among  us,  but  of  a  homage 
as  degrading  as  that  of  the  Castiliau  courtiers  to  the  crowned 
and  sceptred  corpse  of  Pedro's  leman — that  no  friend  can  say 
God-speed  to  you,  without  a  word  of  warning.  Down  in  the 
abyss  of  such  a  worship  may  sink  talents,  learning,  promise. 
In  it  may  be  lost,  without  hope,  every  aspiration  that  is 
noble,  every  principle  that  is  pure,  every  quality  that  is 


ADDRESS.  133 

generous  and  high.  Against  its  demoralizing  propagandism 
there  can  be  no  stronger  bulwark,  humanly  speaking,  than 
the  resistance  and  example  of  a  learned  and  intellectual  pro- 
fession, powerful  from  its  numbers  and  its  influence;  intimate 
and  controlling  in  its  necessary  connection  with  every  variety 
of  human  affairs  ;  trained  to  vigorous  and  independent  thought 
and  downright,  public  and  effective  speech.  If  it  but  dares 
assert  its  dignity  and  character,  there  is  no  social  agent  which 
has  half  its  power  to  curb  and  to  reform  society.  If  it  is 
true  to  itself  in  speech  and  counsel ;  if  it  has  courage  and 
integrity  enough  to  spurn  association  with  fraud  and  wrong, 
in  every  shape,  and  to  expose  and  denounce  them  wherever 
they  appear,  it  can  control  whole  classes  of  society,  whom  the 
preacher  will  not  reach  and  to  whom  moralists  are  a  jest.  If, 
on  the  other  hand,  it  is  capable  of  nothing  better  than  to  sell 
itself — to  adopt  every  man's  cause,  and  help  or  defend  every 
man's  contrivance,  who  pays — it  is  a  social  nuisance  and 
deserves  to  be  despised.  Better  "  to  lie  in  cold  obstruction 
and  to  rot,"  than  to  be  part  or  parcel  of  it. 

I  speak  plainly, — not  because  so  to  speak  is  virtuous,  or 
seems  to  be,  but  because  your  profession  is  growing  in  dis- 
credit, and  I  fear  deservedly,  and  because  its  regeneration 
must  come  from  within  and  not  from  without.  You  cannot 
look  to  the  public  to  reform  professional  morals,  for,  unfortu- 
nately, whatever  want  of  principle  exists  in  our  ranks  is  but 
a  supply  created  by  the  public  demand.  As  long  as  we  are 
willing  to  touch  pitch,  the  community,  though  it  sneer  at  us, 
will  keep  our  hands  defiled,  to  its  profit  at  least  as  much  as 
ours.  I  pray  you  then  to  bear  in  mind,  even  in  your  lightest 
day-dreams — in  the  framing  of  every  plan  and  the  nursing 


134  COMMENCEMENT 

of  every  hope — that  while  learning  and  intellectual  versatility 
and  power  are  the  thews  and  sinews  of  your  calling,  integ- 
rity of  purpose  and  of  conduct  is  its  living  soul.  Its  every 
relation,  properly  considered,  involves  confidence  and  implies 
frankness,  fidelity  and  honor.  You  owe  these  last,  not  merely 
to  the  clients  who  trust  you,  but  to  the  tribunals,  the  public, 
your  brethren  and,  above  all,  yourselves.  You  should  be  as 
far  above  the  charlatanry  and  imposture  which  deceive  and 
mislead,  as  the  coarser  dishonesty  which  plunders  or  lets 
plunder.  Nay,  it  is  your  business,  not  only  to  make  honor 
the  guide  of  your  own  conduct,  but  to  make  no  terms  with 
dishonor.  The  demoralization  of  the  hour  comes  far  less 
from  the  sins  which  are  committed,  than  from  the  slipshod 
acquiescence  by  which  honest  men  condone  them.  I  know 
that  it  is  the  fashion  to  call  plain  speech  "  invidious ; "  and 
of  course  any  man  who  goes  crying  aloud,  like  Cassandra, 
will  probably  be  listened  to  no  more  than  she,  let  him  speak 
what  truth  he  may.  But  there  are  times  when  for  a  gentleman 
to  be  silent  is  to  forego  a  duty,  because  it  is  unpleasant,  and 
to  compromise  himself  by  unmanly  toleration.  He  must  take 
the  consequences  of  the  accustomed  slur — that  he  sets  himself 
up  to  be  better  than  other  people.  Lord  Bacon  did  undoubt- 
edly himself  take  bribes,  the  while  he  exhorted  Mr.  Justice 
Huttou  to  keep  his  hands  "clean  and  uucorrupt  from  gifts." 
But  still  there  are  such  things,  in  fact,  as  honesty  and  dis- 
honesty, and  a  professional  man's  position  is  not  encouraging, 
if  he  cannot  say,  without  presumption  or  Pharisaism,  that 
there  are  some  people  than  whom  he  claims  to  be  better. 

And  now,  gentlemen,  a  very  few  words  to  you  as  working- 
men.     You  have  dedicated  yourselves  to  a  pursuit  which,  in 


ADDRESS.  135 

its  best  estate,  entails  on  you  a  life  of  toil.  Whether  or  not 
it  shall  be  the  toil  of  drudgery,  unrelieved  and  unending, 
depends  in  a  measure  on  yourselves,  and  on  what  you  shall 
do  for  yourselves  in  this  your  season  of  freshness  and  strength. 
Your  first  and  most  manifest  necessity  is  to  become  thoroughly 
grounded,  so  far  as  your  talents  may  permit,  in  the  principles 
which  are  the  true  learning  of  the  law.  Simplification,  the 
happy  result  of  all  sound  analysis,  should  be  the  prime  object 
of  your  labors.  The  more  you  rid  your  minds  of  non-essen- 
tials, the  nearer  you  will  bring  them  to  the  knowledge  which 
avails.  You  are  enlisted  in  an  army  where  the  knowledge 
which  does  not  avail  belongs  to  the  impedimenta,  and  must  be 
sent  to  the  rear.  You  will  need  to  be  not  only  thoroughly 
informed,  but  ready,  and  this  last  you  can  never  be,  unless 
you  have  what  you  ought  to  know  stored  away  within  easy 
reach,  and  unless,  when  you  reach  it,  you  can  grasp  it.  "  Xo 
attorney,"  exclaimed  Lord  Tenterden,  from  the  Bench,  "  is 
bound  to  know  all  the  law.  God  forbid  that  it  should  be 
imagined  that  an  attorney  or  counsel,  or  even  a  Judge,  is 
bound  to  know  all  the  law."  Yet  there  is  not  a  mendicancy 
more  pitiful  on  earth,  than  that  of  a  lawyer  in  active  practice, 
who  has  to  beg,  every  day,  from  his  books,  the  bread  of  his 
daily  need.  But  let  me  entreat  you  to  have  it  ever  present 
before  you,  that  the  great  end  and  effort  of  your  labors  should 
be  to  learn  to  think.  You  may  pile  such  a  mountain  of  other 
men's  thoughts  upon  your  minds  that,  though  they  were 
Titans,  they  could  not  turn  under  it.  Until  a  second  Omar 
shall  rise  up,  in  the  order  of  Providence,  to  burn  your  books, 
or  the  Courts  shall  agree,  a  little  more  generally,  to  prefer  a 
reason,  now  and  then,  to  a  report  from  some  "  far  countree," 


136  COMMENCEMENT 

you  will  of  course  have  to  wander  much  in  the  labyrinth  of 
cases.  But,  I  charge  you,  wander  there  with  cautious  feet,  and 
do  not  delude  yourselves  with  the  conceit  that  case-hunting 
is  study  or  case-knowledge  learning.  You  must  keep  side  by 
side,  as  I  have  said,  with  the  progress  of  the  law,  but  a  single 
shelf  of  your  libraries  will  measure  the  most  of  that  progress 
which  is  real. 

In  the  preparation  of  your  causes,  put  no  trust  in  genius 
or  inspiration.  If  a  man  ever  has  a  great  success  without 
working  his  best  for  it,  it  is  rarely  more  than  once  in  a  life- 
time— like  marrying  for  love.  Be  careful,  nevertheless,  to 
shun  over-preparation,  which  is  a  grievous  impediment  to 
thought  and  argument.  It  is  painful  to  see  how  many  causes, 
which  ought  to  be  won,  are  lost,  by  being  conscientiously 
studied  and  tried  to  death. 

Next  to  self-possession  and  self-control,  the  working  quality 
which  will  stand  you  most  in  stead,  is  clearness  of  miud  and 
speech.  Whether  the  stream  be  deep  or  shallow,  it  matters 
little  what  golden  sands  lie  in  the  bed,  if  men  cannot  be  made 
to  see  them.  Clearness  of  statement  can  hardly  be  without 
clearness  and  directness  of  thought.  This  last,  perhaps,  is 
commonly  a  gift  of  nature,  but  there  are  few  good  minds,  in 
which  discipline  and  use  will  not  breed  a  habit  of  it.  It  is 
not  given,  as  we  know,  to  all  men,  to  be  eloquent,  or  great,  or 
very  wise,  but  he  whose  mind  goes  straight  to  its  own  purpose 
and  conclusions,  and  can  light  the  minds  of  other  men  along 
its  processes,  as  with  the  light  of  perfect  day,  has,  as  an 
advocate,  as  little  reason  as  the  best  to  rail  at  fortune. 

While  nothing  can  be  more  unworthy  of  your  calling  than 
the  arts  of  sycophancy,  there  can  be  nothing  worthier  of  it 


ADDRESS.  137 

than  respectful  courtesy  to  those  who  seek  your  counsel,  and 
kindly  sympathy  beyond  the  formal  line  of  duty  to  them  as 
your  clients.  To  be  consulted  as  oracles  and  looked  up  to 
from  afar,  is  very  pleasant,  undoubtedly,  to  men  of  a  certain 
character ;  but,  in  the  end,  they  generally  find  themselves  with 
a  small  congregation  of  worshippers,  while  around  the  more 
genial  of  their  brethren  there  gather  every  year,  fresh  troops 
of  friends.  And,  after  all,  what  is  human  life,  at  its  proudest, 
without  human  sympathies  ? 

On  your  personal  intercourse  with  your  brethren  must  to 
a  great  extent  depend  the  degree  of  satisfaction  which  will 
attend  your  labors,  whatever  be  their  course  or  your  success. 
The  antagonisms  and  the  inevitable  partisanship  of  the  pro- 
fession render  it  necessary  for  you  to  be  ever  on  your  guard, 
lest  you  trench  upon  the  rights  and  feelings  of  your  fellows. 
There  can  be  no  severer  test,  of  both  temper  and  manners, 
than  the  trial-table,  and  few  are  so  happily  endowed  as  to  be 
superior  always  to  its  provocations  and  temptations.  That 
the  best  of  us  profit,  as  we  should,  by  its  lessons  of  forbear- 
ance and  self-restraint,  it  would  be  rash  indeed  to  say ;  but 
when  you  shall  have  felt,  as  few  escape,  the  mortifica- 
tion which  is  inseparable  from  the  consciousness  of  having 
neglected  them,  you  will  understand  how  impossible  it  is 
for  you  to  heed  them  too  much.  To  the  Courts  before 
which  you  appear  your  first  duty  is  deference  and  respect. 
There  can  be  no  two  things  more  different  than  discourtesy 
and  proper  independence,  in  your  dealings  with  them.  A 
right-minded  and  right-hearted  judge  is  always  at  a  disad- 
vantage in  a  collision  with  counsel.  The  very  superiority 
of  his  position  makes  it  doubly  his  duty  and  inclination  to 
18 


138  COMMENCEMENT  ADDRESS. 

forbear,  and  he  hesitates  to  strike,  lest  the  judge  should  be 
moved  by  the  resentment  of  the  man.  I  need  not  say  how 
ungenerous  it  is  to  forget  this  and  so  forget  yourselves.  If 
you  would  have,  with  the  Bench  and  with  the  Bar,  the 
legitimate  influence  which  is  one  of  the  most  attractive  of 
professional  rewards,  you  must  give  as  well  as  take.  You 
must  yield  respect  if  you  would  receive  respect.  You  must 
be  courteous,  considerate  and  liberal,  if  you  would  have 
courtesy,  liberality  and  consideration.  Above  all,  you  must 
deserve  confidence  if  you  would  enjoy  it ;  and,  believe  me, 
no  weight  of  intellect,  no  copiousness  of  learning,  will  com- 
mend you  or  your  cause  one-half  so  strongly  as  a  life  of  stain- 
less rectitude,  of  kindly  offices,  of  manly  frankness  and  of 
lofty  purpose. 


ADDRESS 

AT  THE  UNVEILING  OF  THE  STATUE  OF 

CHIEF    JUSTICE    TANEY, 

Delivered  in  the  Senate  Chamber,  at  Annapolis, 

DECEMBER  10TH,  1872. 


ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 


REPORT  AND  ADDRESS  OF  THE  CHAIRMAN  OF 
THE  COMMITTEE. 

YOUR  EXCELLENCY  : 

BY  an  Act  of  the  General  Assembly  of  Maryland  passed 
at  the  Session  of  1867,  the  sum  of  five  thousand 
dollars  was  appropriated  for  "the  building  or  erecting  a 
suitable  monument  over  the  remains  of  the  late  Chief  Justice 
ROGER  B.  TANEY,  on  some  suitable  site  in  the  State  House 
yard,  or  in  the  State  House  itself,"  and  Messrs.  G.  Frederick 
Maddox,  of  St.  Mary's  county,  Chas.  E.  Trail  and  Hugh 
McAleer,  of  Frederick  county,  James  T.  Eaiie,  of  Queen 
Anne's  county,  Henry  Williams,  of  Calvert  county,  and 
George  M.  Gill  and  S.  T.  "Wall  is,  of  Baltimore  city,  were 
appointed  a  committee  to  carry  into  effect  the  provisions 
of  the  statute.  Upon  the  organization  of  the  committee,  it 
was  found  to  be  their  unanimous  desire  that  the  execution 
of  the  proposed  work  should  be  entrusted  to  the  distin- 
guished sculptor,  Mr.  William  H.  Rinehart,  a  native  and 
citizen  of  Maryland,  for  many  years  a  resident  of  Rome. 
The  amount  appropriated  being  wholly  insufficient,  not  only 

141 


142  ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 

to  compensate  the  labors  of  so  eminent  an  artist,  but  even 
to  meet  the  necessary  cost  of  a  monument  at  all  worthy  of 
the  State  and  the  occasion,  the  committee  entertained  serious 
doubts  of  their  ability  to  discharge  their  duties  satisfactorily, 
without  further  legislative  provision.  From  this  embarrass- 
ment they  were  happily  relieved  by  the  liberality  and  public 
spirit  of  the  artist  himself,  who  responded  to  their  invitation 
by  a  prompt  and  unconditional  acceptance  of  the  commission. 
It  is  gratifying  to  the  committee  to  make  official  acknowledg- 
ment of  their  obligations  to  Mr.  Rinehart,  for  the  cheerful 
readiness  with  which  he  not  only  undertook  the  work,  but 
volunteered  to  be  content  with  the  honor  of  the  commission 
as  it  stood,  and  the  pride  and  pleasure  of  uniting  with  his 
fellow-citizens  in  their  tribute  to  the  illustrious  dead.  The 
committee,  of  course,  did  not  feel  that  it  became  them  so  far 
to  tax  the  generosity  of  any  individual  citizen,  and  particu- 
larly one  to  whom  the  State  already  owed  so  much,  for  the 
reflected  honor  of  his  well-earned  reputation.  They,  never- 
theless, requested  Mr.  Rinehart  to  prepare  them  such  design 
as  seemed  to  him  appropriate,  and  the  model  of  the  present 
statue  was  accordingly  sent  forward,  while  the  General  Assem- 
bly of  1870  was  in  session.  The  engagement  of  Mr.  Rinehart 
and  the  plan  of  his  work  were  so  acceptable  to  the  members  of 
both  Houses,  that  an  additional  appropriation  of  ten  thousand 
dollars  was  at  once  made  for  the  completion  of  the  monument, 
according  to  his  design,  and  under  the  direction  of  the  original 
committee.  It  would  be  ungracious  not  to  recognize  the  liberal 
and  most  becoming  spirit  in  which  this  legislative  action  was 
taken,  and  its  perfect  accord  with  the  deep  and  spontaneous 
feeling  which  had  welcomed  the  first  appropriation. 


ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY.  143 

The  Legislature  of  1867,  as  appears  by  the  Act  of  that 
date,  had  contemplated  the  removal  of  the  remains  of  Chief 
Justice  Taney  to  the  Capital  of  the  State,  and  the  erection 
of  the  monument  above  them.  The  suggestion,  in  itself,  was 
eminently  appropriate,  for  many  reasons.  It  was  here  that, 
as  a  student,  he  had  laid  the  deep  and  broad  foundations  of 
his  professional  learning  and  success.  In  the  chamber  where 
we  meet  to-day,  to  do  him  honor — and  to  whose  historical 
associations  this  scene  will  add  another,  not  the  least — he 
sat,  for  years,  a  Senator  of  Maryland,  the  peer  of  the  dis- 
tinguished men  who  sat  around  him,  when  no  legislative 
body  in  the  Union  surpassed  that  Senate  in  dignity,  ability, 
or  moral  elevation.  In  the  Chamber  there,  above  us,  where 
the  honorable  Judges,  who  join  us  in  this  tribute  to  his 
memory,  uphold  the  ancient  credit  of  the  State's  Appellate 
Bench,  at  the  zenith  of  his  reputation  as  advocate  and 
counsel  and  in  the  very  ripeness  of  his  powers,  he  shone, 
the  leader  of  the  bar  of  Maryland,  its  actual  not  less  than 
its  official  head.  And  those  were  days  too,  when  to  lead  it 
was  to  walk  in  the  footsteps  of  Pinkney  and  be  measured 
by  the  measure  of  his  genius.  If,  therefore,  he  had  slept 
beneath  this  dome,  or  in  its  shadow,  it  would  have  been 
with  the  dwelling-places  of  his  fame  about  him,  surrounded 
by  the  olden  and  consecrated  memories  of  the  State,  which 
was  but  a  revolted  colony  when  he  was  born. 

But  the  wishes  of  the  Chief  Justice  himself,  upon  that 
subject,  had  been  too  strong  and  were  too  sacred,  to  be  vio- 
lated by  his  children,  even  for  the  gratification  of  the  public 
desire.  The  quiet  town  of  Frederick,  the  theatre  of  his 
earlier  professional  distinction,  was  hallowed  to  him  by  the 


144  EOGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 

grave  of  his  mother ;  and  when  he  left  it,  in  mid  life,  for 
larger  spheres  of  usefulness  and  honor,  he  exacted  the  pledge, 
from  those  who  loved  him,  that  he  should  be  laid  beside  her 
when  he  died.  Nor  was  this  the  outbreak  of  fresh  grief  or 
transient  sentiment  or  feeling. — Through  all  his  life  of  toil 
and  struggle,  ambition,  reward  and  disappointment,  it  was 
his  dearest  longing ;  and  there  is  something  inexpressibly 
touching  in  the  warmer  and  more  anxious  hope  with  which 
the  world-worn  man  clung  fast  to  it,  as  the  period  drew 
nearer  for  its  consummation.  The  literature  of  the  English 
tongue  has  nothing  that  exceeds  in  mournful  tenderness  and 
grace  the  expression  which  he  gave  to  it,  in  a  letter  written  but 
a  little  while  before  the  pledge  of  friendship  was  redeemed. 
Such  a  feeling — so  devoted,  and  cherished  for  so  long — it 
would  have  been  next  to  sacrilege  to  disregard ;  and  the 
Legislature  of  1870  respected  it  accordingly  by  withdraw- 
ing from  the  appropriation  of  their  predecessors  and  their 
own  all  but  the  one  condition,  which  required  the  monument 
to  be  erected  where  it  stands.  The  final  selection  of  that 
locality,  with  its  exposure,  rendered  it  expedient  that  the 
statue  should  be  cast  in  bronze,  and  the  Legislature,  there- 
fore, so  directed. 

With  the  erection  of  the  monument,  the  prescribed  duties 
of  the  committee  which  I  have  the  honor  to  represent  were 
substantially  ended,  but  in  view  of  the  time  which  must 
elapse  before  another  session  of  the  General  Assembly,  they 
have  deemed  it  due  to  the  dignity  of  the  occasion  respect- 
fully to  invite  the  official  intervention  of  your  Excellency, 
in  delivering  the  finished  work  to  the  people  of  the  State. 
It  would  have  been  a  pleasure  to  them,  if  they  could  have 


ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY.  145 

felt  at  liberty  to  anticipate  the  wishes  of  the  Legislature, 
or  have  ventured  to  ask  that  your  Excellency  would  gratify 
your  own,  by  authorizing  a  more  formal  celebration  than  this 
quiet  homestead  gathering. 

As  a  few  moments  will  disclose  to  us,  the  artist  has  chosen 
to  present  us  his  illustrious  subject  in  his  robes  of  office,  as 
we  saw  him  when  he  sat  in  judgment.  The  stature  is  heroic, 
but,  with  that  exception,  the  traits  of  nature  are  not  altered 
or  disguised.  The  weight  of  years  that  bent  the  venerable 
form  has  not  been  lightened,  and  the  lines  of  care,  and 
suffering,  and  thought,  are  as  life  traced  them.  But,  unless 
the  master's  hand  has  lost  its  cunning,  we  shall  see  not 
merely  the  lineaments  we  knew,  but  traces  of  the  soul  which 
illuminated  and  informed  them.  The  figure  has  been  treated 
by  the  artist  in  the  spirit  of  that  noble  and  absolute  simplicity 
which  is  the  type  of  the  highest  order  of  greatness,  and  is 
therefore  its  grandest,  though  its  most  difficult  expression, 
in  art.  The  sculptor  deals  easily  enough  with  subjects  which 
admit  of  ornament  and  illustration,  or  address  the  passions 
or  the  fancy.  The  graces  he  can  lend  his  work — the  smiles 
with  which  it  wins  us — the  beautiful  or  joyous  images  or 
thoughts  with  which  he  can  surround  it — each  is  to  us  an 
open  leaf  of  the  fair  poem  which  he  writes  in  bronze  or 
marble.  Like  the  chorus  of  a  drama,  they  tell,  even  for  the 
worst  of  poets,  far  more  than  half  his  story.  Another  task 
indeed  it  is,  to  embody  in  a  single  image  the  expression  of  a 
great  historic  life,  so  that  standing  severe  and  apart,  it  shall 
be  its  own  interpreter,  forever,  to  the  generations  of  men. 

The  pathway  of  a  great  judge  does  not  lead  through  the 
realms  of  fancy.  Neither  in  reality  nor  in  retrospect  is  there 
19 


146  ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 

much  of  the  flush  of  imagination  upon  it  or  about  it.  \Yittr 
such  a  career  Art  cannot  deal,  nor  History,  as  with  those 
brilliant  lives,  which  dazzle  while  they  last  and  are  seen 
only  through  a  halo  when  they  are  over.  The  warrior,  the 
orator,  the  poet — each  in  his  way — is  linked  with  the  imagi- 
nation or  enthusiasm  of  mankind ;  and  so  the  broken  sword, 
the  unstrung  lyre,  the  shattered  column  with  its  cypress 
wreaths,  all  have  their  voices  for  the  common  heart.  But 
the  atmosphere  of  pure  intellect  and  dispassionate  virtue, 
serene  although  it  be,  is  far  too  cold  for  ordinary  sympathies 
to  live  in.  The  high  ministers  of  human  justice  are  segre- 
gated from  their  fellows,  by  their  very  function,  which  shuts 
out  favor  and  affection.  Fidelity  to  the  obligation  which 
withdraws  them  from  the  daily  interests  and  passions  and 
almost  from  the  converse  of  society,  is  the  patent  of  their 
nobility  in  their  great  office.  The  loftier  the  nature,  the 
more  complete  its  isolation,  to  the  general  eye — the  fewer 
the  throbs  which  answer  to  its  pulses. — Such  men  may  be 
cherished  and  beloved,  in  the  personal  and  near  relations 
which  are  the  dearest  blessing  of  all  lives.  They  may  be 
venerated  and  revered,  so  that  all  heads  shall  be  bowed  and 
uncovered  when  they  pass.  But  they  go,  when  life  closes, 
into  the  chamber  of  heroes  fated  to  dwell  afar  off,  only  in 
the  memories  and  minds  of  men. 

When  the  great  citizen  whose  image  is  beside  us  walked, 
in  his  daily  walk,  amid  our  reverence,  the  simple  beauty  of 
his  private  life  was  all  before  us.  We  can  recall  his  kindly 
smile,  his  open  hand,  his  gracious,  gentle  speech.  The  elders 
of  our  generation  will  remember  how  his  stormy  nature  was 
subdued,  by  duty  and  religion,  to  the  temperance,  humility 


ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY.  147 

and  patience  which  we  knew.  All  of  us  saw  and  wondered 
how  domestic  sorrows,  the  toils  and  trials  of  his  station,  old 
age,  infirmity  of  body,  ingratitude,  injustice,  persecution,  still 
left  his  intellect  unclouded,  his  courage  unsubdued,  his  forti- 
tude unshaken,  his  calm  and  lofty  resignation  and  endurance 
descending  to  no  murmur  nor  resentment.  These  things  the 
sculptor  is  not  called  to  tell  to  those  who  shall  come  after  us. 
The  pen  of  the  biographer  has  worthily  recorded  them,  and 
just  posterity  will  read  what  he  has  written.  The  image  of 
the  Magistrate  and  Ruler,  as  the  world  was  wont  to  see  him, 
is  all  that  the  chisel  bequeaths  to  immortality — his  image,  as 
History  shall  see  it,  when,  ashamed  of  the  passions  of  our 
day,  she  shall  be  once  more  reconciled  with  Truth.  With 
this  noblest  of  the  tasks  of  Art,  only  genius  may  deal  fitly — 
yet  genius  has  dealt  with  it,  and  its  difficulties,  overcome,  are 
the  glory  and  the  triumph  of  genius. 

Thus,  then,  to-day,  sir,  the  State  of  Maryland,  with  grate- 
ful reverence  and  pride,  commemorates  a  life,  than  which  few 
greater,  and  none  loftier  or  purer,  shall  dignify  the  annals  of 
our  country.  It  was  a  life  coeval  with  her  own,  and  a  part 
of  her  own,  and  she  honors  what  she  knew.  It  was  a  life  of 
patriotism,  of  duty,  and  of  sacrifice ;  a  life  whose  aim  and 
effort,  altogether,  were  to  be,  and  do,  and  bear,  and  not  to 
seem.  The  monument  her  people  rear  to  it  is  scarcely  less 
her  monument  than  his  to  whom  it  rises.  What  changes 
shall  roll  round  it  with  the  rolling  seasons ;  whether  it  shall 
survive  the  free  institutions  of  which  Taney  was  the  wor- 
shipper and  champion,  or  shall  see  them  grow  in  stability, 
security  and  splendor ;  whether  it  shall  witness  the  develop- 
ment and  beneficent  expansion  of  the  constitutional  system 


148  ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 

which  it  was  the  labor  of  his  life  and  love  to  understand  and 
to  administer,  or  shall  behold  it, 

"Like  a  circle  in  the  water, 
Which  never  ceaseth  to  enlarge  itself, 
Till,  by  broad  spreading,  it  disperse  to  naught" — 

are  questions  which  men  will  answer  to  themselves,  accord- 
ing to  their  hopes  or  fears — according  to  their  trust,  it  may 
be,  in  the  Mercy  and  Providence  of  God.  But  Maryland 
has  done  her  part  for  good,  in  this  at  least,  that  she  has 
made  imperishable  record,  for  posterity,  of  the  great  exam- 
ple of  her  son.  She  has  builded  as  it  were  a  shrine  to  those 
high  civic  qualities  and  public  virtues,  without  which,  in 
their  rulers,  republics  are  a  sham,  and  freedom  cannot  long 
abide  among  a  people. 

It  was,  I  was  about  to  say,  the  sad  mischance — but,  in  a 
higher  though  more  painful  sense,  the  privilege  and  fortune — 
of  Chief  Justice  Taney,  to  fill  his  place  in  times  of  revolution 
and  unparalleled  convulsion — when  blood  boiled  in  the  veins 
of  brethren,  till  it  was  red  upon  a  million  hands.  In  such  a 
crisis,  no  man  so  conspicuous  as  he,  and  yet  so  bound  to  shun 
the  rancor  of  the  strife,  could  hope  for  freedom  from  distrust 
and  challenge.  A  soul,  brave  and  tenacious  as  his  was — so 
sensitive  to  duty,  and  so  resolute  to  do  it — provoked  injustice 
not  to  be  appeased,  and  dared  reproaches  which  he  might  not 
answer.  His  constitutional  opinions  were  already  part  of  the 
recorded  jurisprudence  of  the  country,  and  he  could  not  change 
them  because  the  tempest  was  howling.  It  was  the  convic- 
tion of  his  life  that  the  Government  under  which  we  lived 
was  of  limited  powers,  and  that  its  Constitution  had  been 


ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY.  149 

framed  for  war  as  well  as  peace.  Though  he  died,  there- 
fore, he  could  not  surrender  that  conviction  at  the  call  of 
the  trumpet.  He  had  plighted  his  troth  to  the  Liberty  of 
the  Citizen  and  the  Supremacy  of  the  Laws,  and  no  man 
could  put  them  asunder.  Whatever  might  be  the  right  of 
the  people  to  change  their  Government,  or  overthrow  it,  he 
believed  that  the  duty  of  the  judges  was  simply  to  maintain 
the  Constitution,  while  it  lasted,  and,  if  need  were,  defend 
it  to  the  death.  He  knew  himself  its  minister  and  servant 
only — not  its  master — commissioned  to  obey  and  not  to  alter. 
He  stood,  therefore,  in  the  very  rush  of  the  torrent,  and,  as 
he  was  immovable,  it  swept  over  him.  He  had  lived  a  life 
so  stainless,  that  to  question  his  integrity  was  enough  to  beg- 
gar the  resources  of  falsehood  and  make  even  shamelessness 
ashamed.  He  had  given  lustre  and  authority,  by  his  wisdom 
and  learning,  to  the  judgments  of  the  Supreme  Tribunal,  and 
had  presided  over  its  deliberations  with  a  dignity,  impartiality 
and  courtesy  which  elevated  even  the  administration  of  jus- 
tice. Every  year  of  his  labors  had  increased  the  respect  and 
affection  of  his  brethren  and  heightened  the  confidence  and 
admiration  of  the  profession  which  looked  up  to  him  as 
worthily  its  chief.  And  yet  he  died,  traduced  and  ostra- 
cised, and  his  image  was  withheld  from  its  place  in  the 
chamber  which  was  filled  already  with  his  fame. 

Against  all  this,  the  State  of  Maryland  here  registers  her 
protest  in  the  living  bronze.  She  records  it  in  no  spirit  of 
resentment  or  even  of  contention,  but  silently  and  proudly — 
as  her  illustrious  son,  without  a  word,  committed  his  reputa- 
tion to  the  justice  of  his  countrymen.  Nor  doubts  she  of  the 
answer  that  posterity  will  make  to  her  appeal.  Already  the 


150  ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY. 

grateful  manhood  of  the  people  has  begun  to  vindicate  itself 
and  him.  Already,  among  those  whose  passion  did  him 
wrong,  the  voices  of  the  most  eminent  and  worthy  have 
been  lifted,  in  confession  of  their  own  injustice  and  in 
manly  homage  to  his  greatness  and  his  virtues.  Already 
the  waters  of  the  torrent  have  nearly  spent  their  force,  and 
high  above  them,  as  they  fall,  unstained  by  their  pollu- 
tion and  unshaken  by  their  rage,  stands  where  it  stood,  in 
grand  and  reverend  simplicity,  the  august  figure  of  the 
great  Chief  Justice ! 


ADDRESS 


ON   BEHALF  OF  THE 


LEE  MEMORIAL  ASSOCIATION, 


DELIVERED  AT  THE 


ACADEMY  OF  MUSIC,  BALTIMORE, 


APRIL  10TH,  1875. 


ROBERT  E.  LEE. 


LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN  : 

THE  ladies,  at  whose  invitation  you  are  here  this  even- 
ing, have  honored  me  by  their  command  to  state  the 
scope  and  purpose  of  the  work  in  which  they  solicit  you  to 
join  them.  But  for  the  deference  to  which  their  wishes  and 
opinions  are  entitled,  I  should  have  ventured  to  believe  the 
task  a  needless  one,  for  I  am  sure  the  feelings  which  induce 
your  presence  have  already  spoken  to  you  with  a  deep 
impressiveuess,  to  which  I  can  add  neither  pathos  nor 
power.  There  are  names  which  in  themselves  are  a  history 
and  a  consecration — themes  which  are  their  own  eloquent 
interpreters  beyond  speech  or  writing — and  who  is  there  that 
can  add  a  word  or  a  thought  to  the  story,  when,  to  those  who 
are  around  me,  I  name  the  name  and  call  up  the  memory 
of  LEE? 

More  than  four  years  have  gone,  since  the  great  citizen 
and  soldier  was  called  to  his  reward.  He  would,  himself, 
have  coveted  no  prouder  resting-place  than  the  green  bosom 
of  his  mother  State — no  monument  beyond  the  love  and  the 
remembrance  of  the  people  he  had  loved  and  served.  But 
20  153 


154  ROBERT  E.  LEE. 

the  gratitude  and  devotion  of  the  living  refused  to  be  meas- 
ured by  the  humility  of  the  dead ;  and  it  was  at  once  deter- 
mined, by  his  followers  in  arms,  to  mark  the  grave  of  their 
illustrious  leader  by  some  fitting  and  permanent  memorial. 
An  eminent  sculptor  of  Richmond,  Mr.  Edward  V.  Valen- 
tine, well  known,  by  reputation,  through  the  country,  was 
accordingly  invited  to  assist  in  carrying  out  their  wishes. 
The  choice  was,  in  all  respects,  appropriate,  the  artist  being 
not  only  of  unquestionable  genius,  skill  and  cultivation,  but 
full  of  enthusiasm  in  his  art,  and  with  that  high  sense  of  its 
nobility  and  dignity,  without  which  none  can  pass  beyond 
the  outer  places  of  its  temple.  These  qualities  existing  in 
the  sculptor,  it  was  doubly  meet  he  should  be  chosen,  so 
that  the  tomb  of  the  great  Virginian  should  be  modelled  by 
the  reverent  and  loving  hand  of  a  son  of  the  same  mother. 
Mr.  Valentine's  design  of  a  recumbent  figure  of  the  hero, 
was  accepted  by  the  Memorial  Association  in  the  early 
summer  of  1871,  but  the  model  was  not  finished  in  plaster 
until  late  in  the  ensuing  winter.  The  statue  itself,  which  is 
of  marble,  and  of  rather  more  than  the  size  of  life,  received 
the  last  touches  of  the  chisel  but  a  few  days  since,  and  was 
exhibited  to  the  public  in  Richmond,  where  it  created  the 
profoundest  sensation.  It  appears  to  have  commanded  the 
admiration  not  only  of  the  many,  with  whom  devotion 
might  naturally  have  stood  in  the  place  of  criticism,  but  of 
those  as  well  whose  taste  and  culture  entitle  them  to  render 
authoritative  judgment. 

The  task  of  the  sculptor  was  a  difficult  and  grave  one,  but 
he  has  shown  himself  equal  to  it.  His  conception  and  its 
execution  are  severely  simple.  The  hero  is  lying  in  his 


ROBERT  E.  LEE.  155 

uniform,  as  if  in  sleep,  upon  his  narrow  soldier's  bed.  His 
posture  is  natural  and  easy.  One  hand  is  on  his  bosom, 
and  touches,  unconsciously  and  gently,  "the  drapery  of  his 
couch."  The  other  is  lying  by  his  side,  where  it  has  fallen, 
and  rests  upon  his  sword.  The  portraiture  is  perfect,  as  to 
form  no  less  than  feature.  The  whole  expression  is  that  of 
tranquil  and  absolute  repose.  But  it  is  not  the  sleep  of 
death  and  nothingness,  when  the  soul  is  gone,  nor  yet  of 
bodily  exhaustion,  with  its  "dumb  forgetfulness."  It  is 
the  repose  of  physical  power,  unshaken  though  dormant — 
of  manly  grace,  most  graceful  when  at  rest — of  noble  facul- 
ties, alive  and  sovereign,  though  still.  It  is  a  presence  in 
which  men  stand,  uncovered  and  in  silence — half  listening 
for  the  voice — He  "is  not  dead,  but  sleepeth." 

The  remains  of  General  Lee  were  deposited  and  are  now 
resting  beneath  the  chapel  of  Washington  and  Lee  Univer- 
sity, at  Lexington,  Virginia,  in  a  chamber  designed  by  him 
for  a  library.  The  place  is  altogether  unsuited  for  the  monu- 
ment proposed,  which  is  to  consist  not  only  of  the  figure  I 
have  attempted  to  describe,  but  of  an  appropriate  sarcopha- 
gus, in  marble,  on  which  the  statue  is  to  rest.  There  is 
neither  light  enough  nor  sufficient  elevation  in  the  apart- 
ment, which,  in  its  style  and  appointments  besides,  is  alto- 
gether out  of  keeping  with  the  work  of  the  artist,  and 
unworthy  to  receive  it.  It  has  therefore  been  determined 
to  erect  a  separate  and  suitable  memorial  building  or 
mausoleum,  upon  ground  which  the  University  has  placed 
at  the  disposal  of  the  Association,  not  far  from  the  spot 
where  the  great  life  it  will  commemorate  was  ended.  In 
this  good  work  it  is,  that  you  are  asked  to  share. 


156  ROBERT  E.   LEE. 

Apart  from  the  wishes  of  the  family  of  General  Lee,  who 
desire  that  his  remains  shall  lie  in  the  peaceful  and  scholastic 
shades  to  which  he  retired  from  the  gratitude  and  admira- 
tion of  his  people,  there  is  eminent  propriety  in  this  selection 
of  his  final  resting-place.  Had  he  died  upon  the  field  of 
fame  and  battle,  amid  "  the  thunder  of  the  captains  and  the 
shouting" — had  he  gone  home,  victor  in  some  crowning  and 
decisive  fight,  as  he  was  victor  in  so  many  that  were  so  very 
glorious — it  might  have  been  well  to  lay  him  where  men 
come  and  go — a  leader  of  men  among  men,  still  ruling  their 
spirits  from  his  urn. — But  such  was  not  his  death  or  fortune. 
The  calm,  self-sacrificing,  upright,  unrepining  gentleman — 

"Who  wore  no  less  a  loving  face,  because  so  broken-hearted" — 

humble  before  God  and  without  enmity  to  men ;  bending  the 
faculties  that  might  have  swayed  a  realm,  to  schemes  of  quiet 
usefulness  and  unpraised  toil ;  silent  before  slander  and  insult; 
unmoved  by  threat  and  falsehood ;  teaching,  by  noble  precept 
and  example,  the  duty  of  submission,  as  he  had  nobly  taught 
and  led  resistance  and  defiance,  while  resistance  was  a  duty — 
this  was  the  hero  who  died  at  Lexington,  giving  the  lesson 
of  a  greatness  that  was  far  above  his  glory.  On  the  field 
of  that  greatness  he  laid  down  his  life,  and  on  it  he  should 
rest.  To  his  fame  it  is  nothing  where  he  sleeps.  To  the 
State  that  bore  him — having  borne  him — it  matters  almost 
as  little.  Could  she  have  buried  him  at  Arlington,  as  was 
her  right  and  his,  she  would  have  blended  the  memories  of 
Washington  and  Lee  with  the  sacred  associations  of  their 
homes.  At  Lexington,  their  names  at  least  are  joined 
together,  and  there  the  pilgrims  from  Mount  Vernon  to 


ROBERT  E.   LEE.  157 

the  shrine   your    hands   will    help    to   build,   may   lay   their 
offerings  on  the  grave  of  Jackson  also. 

WASHINGTON,  LEE,  JACKSON  ! 

"dust,  which  is 
Even  in  itself,  an  immortality ! " 

There  are  before  me,  doubtless,  some,  who  pay  their  will- 
ing tribute  to  the  great  Confederate  soldier,  yet  sympathize 
in  nothing  with  the  cause  to  which  he  gave  his  heart  and 
genius.  They  see,  in  his  career  and  character,  those  traits 
which  true  men  love  and  honor,  no  matter  in  what  cause  dis- 
played, They  share  the  admiration  which  his  name  awakens, 
in  the  wise  and  brave  and  good,  the  wide  world  over.  Their 
pride  grows  warm  and  high,  when  they  remember  that  they 
are  his  brethren — that  his  fame  will  be  the  treasure  of  their 
country  and  the  heritage  of  their  own  children,  so  long  as 
they  shall  live  in  a  free  land  and  share  its  glories.  It  is  in 
the  inspiration  of  this  reverence  for  what  is  pure  and  noble — 
the  perpetual  suggestion  of  this  brotherhood  and  common 
pride,  the  obliteration  of  animosities,  the  bringing  of  men's 
hearts  together,  upon  lofty  common  ground — that  the  memory 
of  the  illustrious  dead  is  a  beneficent  and  living  power.  Its 
influence,  first  felt  by  the  bravest  and  the  best  of  those  who 
were  his  foes,  when  swords  were  crossed,  is  now  confined  no 
longer  to  party  or  to  section.  It  has  awakened  magnanimity 
and  softened  resentment  almost  everywhere.  It  has  helped 
to  break  the  spell  of  prejudice  and  passion,  and  make  men 
feel  how  narrow,  false  and  very  mean  a  thing  it  is,  to  call 
opinion  crime.  I  look  upon  this  influence  as  of  the  happiest 


158  EGBERT  E.  LEE. 

augury.  I  trust,  nay,  I  believe  the  time  is  not  far  off, 
when  the  great  struggle,  which  ended  at  Appomatox,  will  be 
regarded  by  the  people  of  all  America  in  the  light  of  what 
it  was,  and  not  of  what  violence  and  falsehood,  in  high  places 
and  in  low  places,  have  found  it  their  interest  to  call  it.  I 
look  for  the  returning  sense  of  self-respect  as  well  as  justice, 
in  the  country,  to  blot  out  from  its  laws  and  its  judicial 
decisions,  not  long  hereafter,  the  opprobrious  epithets  by 
which  it  is  still  the  fashion  to  disgrace  them,  when  the 
Confederate  war  is  mentioned.  I  persuade  myself  it  will 
not  be  long,  before  all  intelligent  and  honorable  men — 
without  abating  one  jot  or  tittle  of  their  own  convictions, 
or  of  their  honest  pride  in  having  fought  victoriously  to 
maintain  them — will  begin  to  feel  that  the  wearisome  and 
insulting  cant  about  "  rebels "  and  the  "  rebellion,"  and 
"  treason "  and  "  traitors,"  is  altogether  unworthy  of  them, 
and  should  be  relegated  to  the  pot-houses  and  their  dema- 
gogues. I  know  that  such  already  is  the  feeling  in  hosts  of 
bosoms  scarred  in  honorable  fight,  and  it  is  a  feeling  that 
must  grow  and  spread,  because  it  is  just  and  manly,  and 
because  manhood  and  justice  are  inherent  in  the  race  from 
which  we  chiefly  spring,  and,  though  they  may  be  reached 
but  slowly,  sometimes,  are  certain  to  be  reached  at  last. 

Let  me  not  be  misunderstood.  Of  course  no  Southern  man 
has  right  or  reason  to  complain  of  those  who  thought  that 
wrong,  which  he  thought  right.  Believing  that  a  separate 
government  was  his  plain  right,  when  he  might  choose  to 
have  it,  he  may  not  quarrel  with  the  opposite  convictions  of 
his  countrymen,  who  thought,  and  with  sincerity  as  deep  as 
his,  that  the  Union  was  a  priceless  right  of  theirs,  and  were 


ROBERT  E.  LEE.  159 

therefore  ready  to  immolate  him  for  it,  as  well  as  sacrifice 
themselves.  But  he  has  the  right  to  ask  that  the  honesty  of 
his  convictions,  the  sincerity  of  his  patriotism,  the  good  faith 
of  his  sacrifices,  shall  not  be  doubted  or  denied,  any  more 
than  theirs.  He  is  entitled  to  demand  that  no  enemy  shall 
put  a  tongue  into  his  wounds — "  poor,  poor  dumb  mouths," 
and  make  them  lie.  It  was  melancholy  beyond  words,  that 
political  differences  between  brethren — the  citizens  of  a  repub- 
lic whose  government  rested  on  consent — could  not  be  settled 
without  blood.  But  they  were  political  differences  neverthe- 
less, and  they  were  nothing  more.  They  were  the  expression 
of  political  principles,  concerning  which  parties  and  sections 
had  been  long  divided,  and  which  separated  the  best  and 
wisest  of  the  land,  long  before  their  antagonism  was  startled 
into  strife.  One  side  may  have  been  right  and  the  other 
wrong,  or  there  may  have  been  right  and  wrong  with  both — 
but  neither  could  question,  with  truth,  the  sincerity  of  the 
other;  and  only  fanaticism  and  folly,  upon  either  side  can 
deny  it  to  the  other,  now.  I  speak  of  the  true  men,  upon 
both  sides,  for  they  only  are  worth  considering,  on  either. 
There  is  something  marvellous,  if  not  inconceivable,  in  the 
belief  which  some  people,  otherwise  sane,  profess  to  enter- 
tain, that  a  man  is,  mentally  or  morally,  better  or  worse 
for  his  sincere  political  opinions — better  or  worse  because  he 
is  a  monarchist  instead  of  a  republican — because  he  favors 
State  rights  or  thinks  them  sinful ;  that  it  was  profligacy  to 
believe  secession  constitutional  or  in  any  way  defensible,  and 
virtuous  to  believe  the  contrary ;  that  to  be  "  loyal "  was  to 
pass  into  the  communion  of  saints,  and  to  be  "  disloyal "  was 
to  forfeit,  in  the  act,  the  prestige  of  the  loftiest  and  purest 


160  EGBERT  E.  LEE. 

life.  While  blood  was  hot  and  flowing,  such  madness  might 
have  passed  for  reason.  War  over — ten  years  gone — it  is 
but  drivelling  folly,  without  the  dignity  of  madness.  And 
yet  to-day,  this  "  clotted  nonsense  "  (as  Dr.  Johnson  would 
have  called  it,  in  any  body  but  himself)  is  standing  or  is 
thrust  in  the  way  of  justice,  among  thousands  of  honest  and 
good  people ;  and,  standing  in  the  way  of  justice,  is  in  the 
way  also  of  that  perfect  reconciliation  and  mutual  trust, 
which  will  never  come,  until  justice  shall  be  frankly  done 
by  the  victors  to  the  vanquished.  The  men  who  fought  in 
the  same  cause  with  Lee,  and  all  whose  hearts  were  with 
them,  are  bound  in  honor  to  abide  by  the  arbitrament  they 
sought.  They  are  bound  to  accept  defeat  and  its  legitimate 
consequences,  in  as  good  faith  as  they  would  have  accepted 
victory.  They  are  bound  to  obey  the  laws  and  support  the 
constitution  ;  to  fulfil,  to  the  letter,  every  duty  of  citizenship, 
and  answer  freely  every  call  of  patriotic  obligation.  But 
they  are  not  bound  to  defile  the  ashes  of  their  dead,  or  to 
submit,  in  silence,  to  injustice  or  dishonor.  They  may  have 
been  wrong.  That  is  fair  matter  of  opinion,  and  posterity 
will  judge  them.  They  may  have  been  unwise.  There  is 
no  absolute  criterion,  on  earth,  of  what  is  wise ;  and  none  of 
us  have  reason  to  think,  like  the  friends  of  holy  Job,  that 
we  are  the  people,  and  that  wisdom  shall  die  with  us.  But 
the  men  of  the  South  are  entitled  to  stand  before  mankind 
as  a  people,  who,  believing  they  were  right  and  acting  with 
what  wisdom  they  knew,  set  hope  and  existence  on  the  die. 
They  have  a  right  to  resent  and  denounce  imputations  on 
their  purposes  and  motives.  When  they  read  in  political 
journals  and  discourses,  or  hear,  from  the  halls  of  legislation 


ROBERT  E.  LEE.  161 

or  the  bench  of  justice,  that  for  eight  millions  of  free-born 
men  to  separate  themselves  from  a  popular  government,  of 
which  they  formed  a  part,  and  set  up  and  be  governed  by 
another  which  they  preferred,  was  "  wicked  rebellion  " — an 
effort  to  overthrow  society  and  turn  back  the  current  of 
civilization — they  have  a  right  to  say  that  the  time  has 
come,  when  educated  people  should  be  ashamed  of  such 
things.  They  are  the  froth  of  the  angry  waters  and  should 
have  passed  away  with  the  storm.  Until  they  cease  to  sully 
the  stream,  the  serenity  of  peace  and  brotherhood  can  never 
be  reflected,  like  heaven,  from  its  bosom. 

Such  devices  and  phrases  are  not  new.  They  are  as  old 
as  foolishness  and  foul  language.  I  have  before  me  a  copy 
which  Mr.  Parton  has  furnished,  from  a  Tory  "  Extra "  of 
1777,  chronicling  the  retreat  of  Washington  across  the  Har- 
lem River,  and  denouncing  the  cause  in  which  he  was  enlisted 
as  "the  most  wicked,  daring  and  unnatural  rebellion  that 
ever  disgraced  the  annals  of  history."  The  ingenuity  and 
eloquence  of  our  own  day,  with  all  the  modern  improve- 
ments, have  not  been  able,  I  believe,  to  add  a  single  epithet 
to  this  pleasing  expression  of  by-gone  loyalty.  And  yet, 
ten  years  after  it  was  written,  or  at  all  events  after  the 
Revolution  was  over,  I  am  sure  that  all  reasonable  tories, 
and  certainly  all  sensible  Englishmen,  would  have  agreed 
to  laugh  at  it  and  forget  it.  We  are  ourselves  about  to 
demonstrate,  by  a  Centennial  commemoration,  how  entirely 
nature  has  recovered  from  the  shock  which  that  "  rebellion  " 
was  supposed  to  have  given  her.  True,  it  was  successful, 
and  that  unquestionably  makes  some  difference — but  only 
with  time-servers.  We  are  dealing,  now,  with  moralists, 
21 


162  EGBERT  E.  LEE. 

and  they  will  never,  I  suppose,  suggest  that  wickedness 
ceases  to  be  wicked,  because  the  horn  of  the  ungodly 
happens  to  be  exalted.  If  Grant  had  surrendered  to  Lee, 
they  would  still  have  died  in  the  conviction,  that  secession 
was  a  heresy ;  that  the  ways  of  Providence  were  inscrutable, 
if  not  unconstitutional  (according  to  Story's  Commentaries) ; 
and  that  truth  and  reason  are  not  questions  of  numbers,  artil- 
lery or  ammunition. 

I  make  these  observations  here,  in  no  spirit  of  unkindness 
or  contention.  You  would  resent,  and  with  justice,  the  intru- 
sion of  past  or  present  controversial  issues,  upon  an  occasion 
dedicated  only  to  reverent  and  gentle  memories  of  the  dead. 
But  I  feel,  in  common  with  all  to  whom  those  memories  are 
dear,  that  silence  concerning  such  things  as  I  have  mentioned 
is  no  longer  consistent  with  proper  self-respect.  So  long  as 
the  bitterness  of  party  can  be  profitably  stirred  by  the  worn- 
out  catch-words  of  the  war,  we  must  of  course  expect  to  hear 
them  from  the  lips  of  those  to  whom  profit  is  a  compensation 
for  shame.  But  we  have  a  right  to  appeal  from  these  to 
the  men  who  lead  opinion,  because  they  are  worthy  and 
entitled  to  lead  it.  We  have  a  right  to  throw  upon  them 
the  responsibility  which  belongs  to  their  influence,  their 
intelligence, — nay,  their  breeding  and  their  manners.  And 
for  saying  this,  respectfully  but  earnestly  and  frankly,  I 
know  no  better  occasion  than  the  present,  when  we  are 
honoring  one,  who,  though  a  "  rebel "  of  "  rebels,"  if  there 
were  any  such,  was,  by  common  consent,  the  soul  of  honor, 
and  than  whom  no  man  living  dares  to  say  that  lie  or  his 
are  purer  or  better.  And,  when  I  remember  how  his  gener- 
ous and  unselfish  nature  would  have  scorned  to  place  upon  a 


ROBERT  E.  LEE.  163 

lower  level  than  his  own,  the  purposes  and  motives  of  the 
humblest  of  the  soldiers  who  gave  all  to  the  same  cause 
and  the  same  country — living  or  dying,  in  defeat  or  victory, 
half-naked  in  the  field,  half-famished  on  the  march  and 
in  the  camp,  but  heroes  always — I  feel  as  if  I  did  his 
bidding,  in  this  earnest  protest  against  further  maligning 
their  good  name. 

And  here  I  am  permitted,  by  the  kindness  of  a  friend,  to 
read  some  extracts  from  a  letter  of  the  illustrious  soldier, 
which  has  never  seen  the  light  before,  and  which  will  show 
through  what  sad  struggles,  of  both  heart  and  mind,  he  passed 
to  what  he  felt  to  be  his  duty.  I  doubt  not — nay,  I  know — 
that  many  a  gallant  gentleman  who  fought  beside  him,  and 
many  another  in  the  opposing  host,  grieved,  with  as  deep  a 
grief  as  Lee,  to  draw  his  sword.  The  letter  that  I  speak  of 
bears  the  date  of  January  16th,  1861,  and  was  written  from 
Fort  Mason,  near  San  Antonio,  in  Texas.  It  was  addressed 
to  a  young  lady,  a  relative  of  his,  for  whom  he  had  great 
affection,  and  the  passages  of  which  I  speak  were  written  as 
a  message  to  her  father.  Alluding  to  the  homes  of  two  fami- 
lies of  friends,  he  said  : 

"  I  think  of  the  occupants  of  both,  very  often,  and  hope, 
some  day,  to  see  them  again.  I  may  have  the  opportunity 
soon  ;  for,  if  the  Union  is  dissolved,  I  shall  return  to  Vir- 
ginia to  share  the  fortune  of  my  people.  But  before  so  great 
a  calamity  befalls  the  country,  I  hope  all  honorable  means  of 
maintaining  the  Constitution  and  the  equal  rights  of  the  peo- 
ple will  be  first  exhausted.  Tell  your  father  he  must  not 
allow  Maryland  to  be  tacked  on  to  South  Carolina,  before 
the  just  demands  of  the  South  have  been  fairly  presented  to 


164  EGBERT  E.  LEE. 

the  North  and  rejected.  Then,  if  the  rights  guarantied  by 
the  Constitution  are  denied  us,  and  the  citizens  of  one  portion 
of  the  country  are  granted  privileges  not  extended  to  the 
other,  we  can,  with  a  clear  conscience,  separate.  I  am  for 
maintaining  all  our  rights,  not  for  abandoning  all  for  the 
sake  of  one.  Our  national  rights,  liberty  at  home  and 
security  abroad,  our  lands,  navy,  forts,  dockyards,  arsenals 
and  institutions  of  every  kind.  It  will  result  in  war  I  know, 
fierce,  bloody  war.  But  so  will  secession,  for  it  is  revolution 
and  war  at  last,  and  cannot  be  otherwise,  and  we  might  as 
well  look  at  it  in  its  true  character.  There  is  a  long  message, 

A ,  for  your  father,  and  a  grave  one,  which  I  had  not 

intended  to  put  in  my  letter  to  you,  but  it  is  a  subject  on 
which  my  serious  thoughts  often  turn,  for,  as  an  American 
citizen,  I  prize  my  government  and  country  highly,  and 
there  is  no  sacrifice  I  am  not  willing  to  make  for  their 
preservation,  save  that  of  honor.  I  trust  there  is  wisdom 
and  patriotism  enough  in  the  country  to  save  them,  for  I 
cannot  anticipate  so  great  a  calamity  to  the  nation  as  the 
dissolution  of  the  Union." 

Alas !  alas !  that  the  hand  which  wrote  those  touching, 
anxious  words,  was  not  near  enough  to  the  helm  to  avert 
the  shipwreck  !  Alas  !  alas !  that  no  voice  should  have  been 
lifted  in  the  land,  potent  enough  to  bid  the  whirlwind  stay  ! 
Who  lacked  the  wisdom — who  lacked  the  patriotism — which 
Lee  invoked,  it  is  not  for  me,  in  this  place  at  least,  to  say. 
If  they  existed,  they  were  dumb  and  helpless,  and  the  whirl- 
wind came.  But  I  have  read  enough  to  you,  to  show  the 
stuff  of  which  some  men  were  made  whom  they  call  "  rebels  " 
— enough  to  show  that  they  who  fought,  at  last,  against  the 


ROBERT  E.  LEE.  165 

Union,  were  not  always  they  who  loved  it  least,  or  would, 
least  willingly,  have  died  to  save  it. 

I  have  spoken,  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  of  our  hero's  char- 
acter and  life,  as  they  attract  the  admiration  of  mankind — of 
the  qualities  which  enemies  and  friends  may  venerate  alike. 
It  would  be  unmanly  affectation  in  me  to  pretend  that,  here 
in  Maryland,  we  loved  him  and  remember  him  chiefly  for 
these.  We  are  proud  of  the  great  name — as  proud  as  any — 
but  the  household  word  is  dearer  far  to  us.  His  story  and 
his  memory  are  linked  with  all  the  hopes  and  triumphs,  the 
exultation  and  despair,  which  made  a  century  of  those  four 
bitter,  bloody,  torturing  years.  He  was  to  us  the  incarna- 
tion of  his  Cause — of  what  was  noblest  in  it,  and  knightliest, 
and  best.  Whatever  of  perplexity  beset  his  path  before  he 
chose  it,  he  knew  no  doubts,  when  it  was  chosen.  He  fol- 
lowed where  it  led  him,  knowing  no  step  backward.  Along 
it,  through  victory  and  defeat,  our  sympathies  and  prayers 
went  with  him.  Around  him  gathered  the  fresh,  valiant 
manhood  of  our  State,  and  many  a  brave  young  heart  that 
ceased  to  beat  beside  him,  drew  him  but  closer  to  the  bleed- 
ing hearts  in  all  our  saddened  homes.  These  are  the  ties  that 
bind  him  to  us.  These  are  the  memories  that  troop  around 
us  here,  to-night — not  of  the  far-oif  hero,  belonging  to  the 
world  and  history — but  memories  of  our  hero — ours — the 
man  that  wore  the  Gray !  Not  in  the  valley  where  he 
sleeps,  not  among  the  fields  he  made  immortal,  lives  he, 
or  will  he  live,  in  fonder  recollections,  than  where  Calvert 
planted  freedom. 

"  And  far  and  near,  through  vale  and  hill, 
Are  faces  that  attest  the  same; 


166  ROBERT  E.  LEE. 

The  proud  heart  flashing  through  the  eyes, 
At  sound  of  his  loved  name." 

And  when  they  tell  us,  as  they  do,  those  wiser,  better 
brethren  of  ours — and  tell  the  world,  to  make  it  history — 
that  this,  our  Southern  civilization,  is  half  barbarism,  we 
may  be  pardoned  if  we  answer :  Behold  its  product  and  its 
representative !  "  Of  thorns  men  do  not  gather  figs,  nor 
of  a  bramble-bush  gather  they  grapes."  Here  is  Robert 
Lee — show  us  his  fellow  ! 


ADDRESS 


DELIVERED    BEFORE 


THE  SCHOOLS  OF  ART  AND  DESIGN 

OF   THE 

MARYLAND    INSTITUTE, 


JUNE  4,  1881. 


ART  IN  EDUCATION. 


MR.  CHAIRMAN,  LADIES  AND  GENTLEMEN  : 

ON  the  13th  day  of  March,  1851,  at  the  request  of  the 
Board  of  Managers  of  the  Maryland  Institute  for 
the  Promotion  of  the  Mechanic  Arts,  I  had  the  honor  to 
deliver  the  address  at  the  laying  of  the  corner-stone  of  the 
edifice  in  which  we  are  now  assembled.  It  was  an  occasion 
of  great  public  interest,  particularly  manifested  by  the  class 
under  whose  auspices  and  for  whose  especial  benefit  the  Insti- 
tute was  organized.  There  comes  to  me  a  refreshing  odor  as 
of  far-off  incense,  when  I  read,  from  the  newspaper  reports 
of  the  day  following,  that  the  speaker  was  "  repeatedly  inter- 
rupted," during  the  delivery  of  his  discourse,  "  by  the  applause 
of  his  ten  thousand  listeners."  The  historical  accuracy  and 
value  of  this  part  of  the  record  may  perhaps  be  slightly 
qualified,  in  the  opinion  of  some,  by  the  statement  which 
immediately  follows,  that  the  "  ten  thousand "  in  question 
"  seemed  to  regret  the  close  of  the  eloquent  remarks  "  which 
they  are  said  to  have  applauded.  Candor,  indeed,  compels 
me  to  admit,  for  the  benefit  of  rising  orators,  that  such  regrets 
on  the  part  of  audiences  have  not  been  universal,  in  the  some- 
what extended  experience  of  the  speaker ;  and,  if  the  reporters 
22  169 


170  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

of  that  day  were  accurate,  as  I  am  bound  to  believe,  in  their 
finding  on  the  facts,  it  is  only  additional  and  striking  evi- 
dence of  the  public  sympathy  which  attended  the  enterprise 
then  starting  into  life.  There  was,  in  truth,  much  enthusi- 
asm among  us  all,  at  the  time,  and  there  were  high  and 
confident  hopes — shared  fully  by  the  speaker  with  his  hearers 
— that  the  institution,  for  which  they  were  building  a  dwell- 
ing place,  would  be  prominent  among  the  beneficent  and 
civilizing  agencies  by  which  our  community  was  to  be 
elevated  and  developed.  Of  the  conspicuous  and  valuable 
citizens,  who  were  the  early  friends  and  promoters  of  the 
Institute  and  who  manifested  their  interest  in  it  by  their 
presence  on  the  occasion,  there  are  but  few  now  left.  The 
able  and  energetic  president  of  that  day — the  venerable  Joshua 
Vansant — is  happily  still  among  us,  his  capacity  for  usefulness 
unimpaired  by  the  labors  of  a  long  life  of  responsibility  and 
duty,  most  honorably  met  and  faithfully  discharged.  My 
friend  and  professional  brother,  Mr.  John  H.  B.  Latrobe, 
whose  varied  and  remarkable  accomplishments  and  gifts  seem 
to  grow  brighter,  from  their  constant  and  earnest  application 
to  all  purposes  of  practical  utility,  is  still  as  active  and  assidu- 
ous in  the  unpaid  service  of  our  people,  as  when  he  delivered 
the  address  before  the  Institute,  in  1848,  at  the  opening  of 
its  first  annual  exhibition  at  Washington  Hall.  But,  when 
I  look  over  the  list  of  the  then  officers  and  members  of  the 
Institute,  and  see  how  little  there  remains  of  what  constituted 
its  vitality  and  gave  it  its  impulse  in  those  days,  I  vividly 
realize — what,  indeed,  the  flight  of  thirty  years  sufficieutly 
suggests — that  it  is  now  face  to  face  with  the  ideas  and 
demands,  of  not  only  a  new  generation,  but  a  new  and 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  171 

different  community.  It  provokes  a  smile  to  remember 
with  what  innocent  self-complacency  we  dwelt,  in  1851, 
upon  the  contrast  between  the  wonderful  Baltimore  of  that 
day,  and  the  Baltimore  which  had  surrounded  the  place 
where  our  corner-stone  was  laid,  when  it  was  simply  a 
marsh,  in  the  memory  of  men  then  living.  Nor  were  we 
a  whit  less  confident  of  the  importance  which  was  before 
us,  as  a  city,  than  proud  of  our  superiority  to  the  past. 
We  had  great  ideas  of  our  prospects,  and  expressed  them, 
after  the  local  and  not  altogether  disused  fashion,  without 
much  diffidence.  I  am  afraid  that  then,  as  now,  we  "dis- 
counted" our  greatness  a  little — as  the  phrase  is — going  into 
debt  to  the  future  and  to  hope,  without  being  as  careful  as 
we  might,  to  provide  a  sinking  fund  for  the  redemption  of 
our  promises.  Of  course  we  have  done  wonders,  since  then, 
as  a  city,  but  not  half  as  many  as  we  might  have  done,  with 
greater  enterprise  and  more  concentrated  and  united  effort. 
In  spite  of  the  surprising  disclosures  of  our  sesqui-centeunial 
celebration,  our  needs  are  yet  many,  and  our  efforts  must  be 
great,  if  we  would  increase,  or  even  maintain,  the  rate  of  our 
progress.  Nevertheless,  it  cannot  be  denied  that  we  have 
provided,  in  one  way  or  another,  and  with  more  or  less  com- 
pleteness, for  several  of  the  necessities  which  cried  aloud  for 
help  when  the  Mechanics'  Institute  was  founded. 

Our  admirable  public  school  system  now  offers,  with  open 
hands,  to  the  mechanical  classes,  as  to  all  others,  the  best 
advantages  of  liberal,  thorough  and  cheap  education,  with  no 
narrow  limits.  The  bounty  of  the  late  Mr.  Peabody  has 
given  to  our  people,  at  the  Institute  which  bears  his  name, 
one  of  the  noblest  and  amplest  libraries  of  reference  which 


172  _  ART  JJV  EDUCATION. 

can  be  found  within  the  Union.  A  large  and  beautiful  col- 
lection of  the  best  models  of  ancient  sculpture  is  already  on 
exhibition  in  the  halls  at  that  Institute,  and  its  department 
of  art,  long  dormant  from  deficiency  of  revenue,  will  soon  be 
in  condition,  it  is  hoped,  to  offer  some  opportunities  to  stu- 
dents which  the  city  has  not  hitherto  afforded.  Under  the 
endowment  of  the  late  Mr.  Hopkins,  a  university  has  sprung 
up  recently  among  us,  which  is  already  marching  to  the  front 
among  the  great  schools  of  the  world.  Quite  apart  from  its 
importance  to  the  country  and  society  at  large,  as  an  active 
and  productive  agent  in  the  increase  and  diffusion  of  human 
knowledge,  it  has  to  us,  as  a  community,  a  special  and  double 
value,  in  the  stimulus  which  its  presence  and  influence  have 
given  and  must  give  to  the  intellectual  tastes  and  habits  of 
our  people.  Of  course,  there  will  not  be  music  everywhere, 
simply  because  the  God  Pan  is  in  the  reeds.  The  mere  pres- 
ence of  a  great  institution  of  learning  cannot  make  a  com- 
munity learned  or  wise — though  some  excellent  people  appear 
to  think,  or  at  all  events  to  hope  so,  and  seem  disposed  to  sit 
still,  in  their  ascension-robes,  and  wait  for  the  change.  And 
yet  it  cannot  be  but  that  an  association  of  men  of  the  highest 
order  of  learning  and  ability,  conscientiously  and  actively 
devoted  to  the  search  after  truth  and  knowledge,  in  every 
department  of  human  thought  and  inquiry,  must  perpetually 
radiate  something  of  the  light  and  heat  of  their  own  spirit 
and  example  into  the  intellectual  atmosphere  about  them. 
There  is  scarcely  a  man  of  intellectual  turn  among  us  who 
has  not  felt  this  from  the  university,  already,  and  welcomed 
it  with  all  his  heart.  I  do  not  think  it  over-sanguine  to 
anticipate  a  time,  not  far  removed,  when  this  indirect  influ- 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  173 

ence  of  the  Hopkins  foundation — apart,  as  lias  been  said, 
from  its  direct  impression  as  a  teacher — will  he  traced, 
among  all  classes  of  our  citizens,  in  a  higher  and  more 
general  appreciation  of  intellectual  culture,  and  in  habits  of 
more  accurate  and  studious  thought.  When  men  are  habit- 
ually measured  by  a  higher  standard,  they  will  come,  in 
time,  to  measure  themselves  by  it ;  and  self-love  will  at  last 
suggest  that  reform  which,  intellectually  at  least  (however 
doctors  may  differ  about  it  in  politics),  is  always  best  and 
surest,  when  it  is  spontaneous  "  within  the  party."  With 
its  large  resources  and  bountiful  equipment,  the  University 
has  thus  provided  for  a  want  which  the  founders  of  the 
Institute,  in  their  most  sanguine  moments,  could  never  have 
hoped  to  meet,  except  in  the  most  limited  and  special  way. 
It  has  provided  further,  by  its  courses  of  free  lectures,  for  a 
demand  which  the  Institute  at  first  endeavored  to  supply, 
but  to  which  its  restricted  means  soon  proved  unequal.  The 
lectures  at  the  Peabody  Institute  have  also  come  liberally  in 
aid  of  the  same  purpose.  The  Mechanics'  Institute  of  to-day 
has,  therefore,  the  advantage  of  a  narrower  field  of  obligation 
than  that  which  was  before  it  when  its  duties  were  assumed. 
But  its  obligations  are  none  the  less  imperative  because  they 
are  fewer.  Its  capacity  for  usefulness  has  grown  with  its 
ability  to  concentrate  its  means  and  efforts,  and  define  and 
simplify  its  aims. 

For  many  years  after  its  establishment,  the  annual  fairs 
or  exhibitions  of  the  Institute  absorbed  a  good  deal  of  its 
energy — at  first,  with  excellent  results,  but  later  on,  without 
great  acceptance  or  much  evidence  of  practical  utility.  Some 
of  them  were  very  interesting  and  creditable  displays,  and 


174  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

there  were  occasions  when  they  brought  together  some  of 
the  newest  and  cleverest  inventions  and  most  ingenious 
mechanics  of  the  country.  But  to  make  them  generally 
popular — or,  perhaps,  I  should  more  accurately  say — to 
make  them  pay — there  was  a  gradual  departure  from  the 
strict  line  of  their  mechanical  specialty.  It  is  mortifying 
to  admit,  that  in  so  large  and  thriving  a  community  there 
should  have  been  a  necessity  for  this,  but,  as  I  shall  presently 
take  leave  to  observe,  with  more  particularity,  it  was  not  an 
unusual  experience  among  us.  It  must  be  admitted  that, 
from  the  beginning,  the  Institute  was  wont  to  travel  some- 
what ambitiously,  in  its  exhibitions,  into  the  domain  of  what 
was  supposed  to  be  "  high  art."  The  results,  for  the  most 
part,  it  is  no  unkindness  now  to  say,  were,  perhaps,  more 
entertaining  than  instructive.  I  may  be  permitted,  however, 
to  recall  an  incident,  not  altogether  without  interest  and  value 
in  its  way,  which  shows  that  these  little  ostentations  were  in 
the  right  direction  and  sometimes  bore  good  fruit. 

In  November,  1851,  the  new  hall  of  the  Institute,  in  which 
we  are,  was  already  sufficiently  completed  for  the  holding  of 
the  yearly  exhibition.  It  was  then  the  largest  edifice  in  the 
whole  country  which  was  devoted  exclusively  to  the  advance- 
ment of  the  mechanic  arts.  Under  the  impulse  of  the  warm 
and  energetic  feeling  which  had  caused  its  erection,  the  first 
exhibition  held  in  it  was  so  great  and  genuine  a  success  that 
it  may  well  be  remembered  with  pride.  Among  the  objects 
presented — "deposited,"  it  was  called — were  a  large  number 
which  had  been  benevolently  classified,  in  the  catalogue,  under 
the  head  of  "  The  Fine  Arts."  Of  the  committee  of  judges 
on  that  class  I  had  the  undeserved  honor  to  be  chairman. 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  175 

While  considering,  with  mingled  wonder  and  despair,  the 
multitude  of  hopeless  aspirations  after  immortality,  in  paint 
and  canvas,  with  which  they  had  to  deal  kindly,  the  com- 
mittee had  their  attention  attracted  and  their  minds  relieved 
by  a  singular-looking  little  contribution,  which  was  humble 
enough  in  its  pretensions  and  appeared  to  have  been  shelved, 
in  the  background,  by  some  one,  who  no  doubt  honestly 
regarded  that  as  the  proper  place  for  it.  Upon  examination, 
we  found  that  it  was  a  copy,  or  rather,  an  imitation,  in  bas- 
relief,  of  a  well-known  picture  by  Teniers.  The  material, 
as  well  as  I  remember,  was  the  building  marble  of  Baltimore 
county,  and  the  entire  work  comprised  frame  as  well  as  pic- 
ture, in  one  piece.  Although  the  treatment  was  not  very 
skilful,  and  the  material  did  not  lend  much  attraction  to  the 
sculptor's  modest  effort,  it  required  but  a  glance,  to  see  that 
the  longing  and  the  aspiration  of  the  artist  were  there,  and 
that  there  was  promise  of  a  name  and  a  future  in  the  touch 
of  the  untrained  hand.  Upon  inquiry,  we  found  that  it  was 
the  work  of  a  young  and  unknown  mechanic  in  the  city,  a 
journeyman  stone-cutter,  who  was  altogether  without  artistic 
education  or  the  means  of  acquiring  it.  It  was  not  in  the 
power  of  the  committee  to  do  more  than  encourage  the 
ambition  which  the  Institute  had  no  means  of  fostering : 

o  / 

but  we  did  our  best,  by  rendering  the  judgment  which  I 
take  leave  to  read  you,  from  the  contemporary  records  of 
the  Institute. 

"  No.  801.  The  work,  which,  in  our  judgment,  possesses 
the  highest  degree  of  artistic  excellence,  among  those  admitted 
to  competition,  is  the  bas-relief,  in  marble,  from  Teuiers' 
1  Smokers/  cut  and  deposited  by  Mr.  William  H.  Rinehart. 


176  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

The  committee  consider  the  artist  as  entitled  to  the  most 
favorable  notice  and  the  highest  reward." 

Immediately  following,  on  the  record,  is  the  action  of  the 
Committee  on  Awards : 

"801.  William  H.  Rinehart,  at  Mr.  Baughman's,  for  a 
basso-relievo  in  marble  from  Teniers'  '  Smokers/  gold  medal." 

I  had  not  the  honor  of  a  personal  acquaintance  with  Mr. 
Rinehart  until  long  after,  when  he  was  at  the  height  of  his 
reputation,  and  as  near  the  zenith  of  his  delightful  genius  as 
life  permitted  him  to  reach.  It  was  after  he  had  returned  to 
his  home,  in  1872,  to  erect  at  Annapolis,  under  a  commission 
from  his  native  State,  his  noble  statue  of  our  great  Chief- 
Justice.  Circumstances  threw  me  into  close  relation  with 
him,  which  soon  led  to  cordial  friendship,  and  in  the  freedom 
of  our  intercourse  I  one  day  said  to  him,  that  we  had  been 
acquaintances  longer  than  he  knew.  When  I  gave  him  the 
explanation,  which  he  asked,  he  manifested  the  deepest  sensi- 
bility, and  told  me,  with  much  emotion,  that  it  was  impossi- 
ble for  me  fully  to  appreciate  the  influence  of  the  simple 
incident  which  I  recalled,  upon  his  hopes  and  his  career.  It 
was,  he  said,  the  earliest  public  recognition  of  his  right  to 
believe  that  there  was  something  in  him,  and  he  owed  more 
than  he  could  express,  to  the  pride  and  encouragement  it  gave 
him,  in  his  poverty  and  toil.  I  confess  that,  ever  since,  I 
have  ceased  to  think  of  the  "  fine  arts  "  of  the  older  Institute, 
with  the  levity  which  they  once  inspired.  Whole  acres  of 
bad  canvas  were  worth  enduring — nay,  even  worth  exhibit- 
ing— for  the  sake  of  that  one  tender  shoot  of  genius,  watered 
in  its  struggle  with  the  clods. 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  177 

And  this  brings  me  to  the  more  practical  considerations 
which  belong  to  the  present  occasion,  and  which  I  trust  you 
will  pardon  my  delay  in  reaching. 

In  the  allusions  which  have  just  been  made  to  the  art 
exhibitions  of  the  Institute  in  former  years,  it  has,  of  course, 
been  as  far  as  possible  from  my  purpose  or  disposition,  to 
disparage  such  displays  when  made  under  proper  conditions. 
But  art,  without  school  and  teaching,  is  in  all  its  forms  the 
most  baseless  of  fabrics ;  and  the  necessity  of  labor,  which  is 
the  first  lesson  to  be  taught,  brings  with  it,  as  its  universal 
concomitant,  the  obligation  to  wait.  To  oifer  general  encour- 
agement to  the  display  of  crude  and  uneducated  effort,  is 
perhaps  the  most  effective  method,  in  most  cases,  of  stifling 
what  might  be  talent,  by  submerging  it  in  the  pleasant  and 
perfumed  waters  of  self-satisfaction.  Nothing  need  be  said, 
I  am  sure,  of  the  effect  which  is  likely  to  be  produced  upon 
the  unformed  artistic  tastes  of  a  community,  by  the  distribu- 
tion of  prizes  which  must  go,  for  lack  of  better,  to  works 
which  have  their  only  merit  from  comparison  with  others 
that  are  worse.  It  was  not,  however,  for  want  of  good 
intentions,  or  of  knowing  how  they  should  be  carried  out, 
that  the  Institute  failed,  for  so  many  years,  in  this  part  of 
its  purposes.  Teachers  and  schools  are  not,  in  all  respects 
at  least,  like  those  exquisite  plants  we  know  of,  which  blos- 
som and  are  fragrant  on  no  better  diet  than  the  air.  It  is 
idle  and  absurd  to  calculate  upon  producing  noteworthy 
results  in  art  education,  or  in  education  of  any  sort,  with 
scanty  means.  There  must  be  good  and  abundant  models, 
and  all  sufficient  materials  and  appliances,  in  the  hands  of 
competent  teachers,  who  are  paid  what  their  ability  and  use- 
23 


178  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

fulness  deserve,  so  that  they  may  dedicate  their  whole  time 
and  talents  to  their  work,  and  do  it  with  all  their  might. 
Individual  poverty,  of  course,  can  only  do  the  best  it  may, 
but  public  institutions,  which  assume  a  duty  to  the  public 
and  are  expected  to  discharge  it,  cannot  live  upon  half 
rations.  It  is  our  duty,  as  we  all  know,  and  it  makes  us 
better,  to  pray  and  be  thankful  for  our  daily  bread ;  but  a 
sad  heart  and  a  weary  mind  must  come  from  always  thinking 
of  it.  And  so  it  is,  with  institutions  like  that  with  which 
we  are  concerned  to-night.  If  gentlemen  are  willing,  as  their 
officers,  to  give  time  and  service,  without  reward,  to  the 
public  interests  which  they  promote,  it  is  the  duty  of  the 
public  to  meet  them  half  way.  They  ought  not  to  be 
hampered  by  inadequate  resources,  or  disheartened  by  the 
vain  effort  to  accomplish  their  work  with  only  half  the 
necessary  tools.  Their  teachers,  I  repeat,  should  be  liber- 
ally, and  in  all  contingencies  fairly,  provided  for.  Their 
pupils  should  be  tempted  to  labor  and  learn,  by  all  the 
facilities  and  appliances  which  make  such  labor  a  delight 
and  give  to  it  speed  and  progress.  They  should  never,  for 
an  instant,  be  kept  down  from  excellence,  by  lack  of  example 
or  of  guidance,  or  of  help  to  reach  it.  Neither  officer  nor 
teacher  nor  pupil  should  have  his  hands  tied,  or  even 
hindered,  in  his  work,  by  mean  economies.  It  is  because 
the  Institute  has  never  been  thus  favored — or,  to  speak  more 
properly,  because,  in  this  regard,  it  has  never  been  fairly  dealt 
with — that  it  has  fallen  so  far  short,  from  time  to  time,  in  the 
attainment  of  what  was  hoped  from  it  by  its  founders. 

It  is  in  view  of  this,  that  the  admirable  exhibition  which 
we  are  now  closing  is  so  much  a  marvel,  and  that  all  to 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  179 

whom  we  owe  it  are  so  much  entitled  to  the  thanks  of  the 
community.  I  call  it  admirable,  not  for  the  sake  of  saying 
a  pleasant  and  a  kindly  thing,  for  I  should  have  no  right  to 
say  it  here,  even  as  a  compliment,  unless  it  were  deserved.  It 
is  not  that  the  works  exhibited  arc  perfect,  or  pretend  to  be. 
It  is  not  so  much  that  the  order  of  their  excellence  is  high, 
although  the  merit  of  many  of  them  is  undoubtedly  remark- 
able. It  is  that  study  and  care  and  progress  are  visible  in 
almost  all  of  them,  and  conspicuous  and  striking  in  many. 
It  is  that  they  afford  indisputable  proof  of  thorough  and 
skilful  teaching,  and  excellent  and  general  capacity  to  learn. 
It  is  impossible,  I  think,  for  any  man,  with  an  intelligent 
appreciation  of  such  things,  to  have  examined  the  specimens 
exhibited,  without  having  his  interest  in  the  Institute  deepened 
and  his  desire  to  serve  it  excited.  And  these  specimens,  too, 
are  not  "deposits" — as  in  former  days — the  efforts  of  ambi- 
tious exhibitors.  They  are  the  school's  own  daily,  actual 
work,  as  it  comes  from  the  hands  of  its  pupils.  They  are 
the  showing  of  what  two  years  have  done  for  it,  under  many 
disadvantages,  and  of  how  much  more  and  better  it  could  do, 
if  its  hands  were  strengthened  as  they  should  be. 

When  I  said,  a  few  moments  ago,  that  the  experience  of 
the  Institute,  in  this  latter  particular,  was  not  a  novelty  in 
Baltimore,  it  was  with  regret,  but  with  a  strong  conviction 
that  the  truth  on  that  subject,  whether  flattering,  or  agree- 
able, or  the  contrary,  ought  to  be  spoken  plainly  and  without 
reserve,  on  an  occasion  like  the  present.  The  imputation  of 
presumption,  which  may  possibly  attach  to  speaking  it,  should 
not  hinder  its  utterance  by  any  man  who  is  fit  to  be  heard. 
The  truth  then,  undoubtedly,  is,  that  the  past  history  of 


180  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

Baltimore,  and  indeed  of  Maryland,  has  not  been  one  of 
liberality  to  institutions  of  benevolence,  or  education,  or 
general  usefulness.  I  do  not  speak  of  legislative  or  muni- 
cipal liberality,  nor  is  either  in  my  mind.  I  speak  of 
individual  liberality — of  the  willingness  of  our  citizens  to 
contribute,  of  their  own  means,  and  according  to  their  means, 
to  such  institutions  as  I  have  described — institutions  which 
cannot  be  used  for  patronage,  for  power,  or  for  influence,  and 
from  which  he  who  gives  them  endowment  can  expect  no 
other  return,  than  that  which  comes  to  him  in  common  with 
the  rest  of  the  community.  Until  of  late  years,  it  is  true  that 
we  have  had  among  us  but  few  really  great  fortunes.  Even 
now,  the  number  is  of  course  far  smaller  in  Baltimore  than 
in  many  other  cities — less,  in  fact,  than  in  several  of  its  own 
class  and  population.  But  the  community  has  always  been 
a  prosperous  one,  when  it  chose  to  be ;  and  no  one  remem- 
bers the  time  when  there  were  not  rich  men  among  us,  who 
had  abundance  and  to  spare.  It  is  a  city  of  ver,y  large  wealth 
to-day,  and  there  is  great  ability  to  give,  among  its  people — 
supposing,  always,  the  desire  to  give.  And  yet  we  can  readily 
count,  upon  our  fingers,  all  the  large  endowments  which  have 
ever  been  bestowed  upon  public  institutions  in  Baltimore. 
One  would  be  sorry  to  think,  and  should  be  slow  to  believe, 
that  this  has  arisen  from  a  greater  unwillingness  to  part  with 
money  than  exists  elsewhere.  In  many  ways,  our  people  are 
proverbially  free-handed,  and  we  all  know  how  prodigally, 
at  times,  their  money  has  followed  their  sympathies.  Their 
backwardness  in  the  matter  to  which  I  am  referring  arises 
very  obviously,  it  seems  to  me,  from  other  causes.  They 
have  never  sufficiently  appreciated  the  value  and  force  of 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  181 

co-operative  effort,  even  in  their  business  enterprises.  Their 
energies  have  almost  always  taken  an  individual  direction. 
Without  reproaching  them  with  too  strict  an  adherence  to  the 
Franklinian  religion  of  "  every  man  for  himself,"  it  cannot 
be  denied  that  their  method  has  too  generally  been  that  of 
"every  man  by  himself."  And  so,  in  those  matters  of  public 
utility,  apart  from  business  and  profit,  which  are  committed 
elsewhere  to  institutions  especially  organized  and  endowed, 
they  have  been  guided  by  the  same  false  principle,  and 
have  fallen  into  the  same  unwise  and  unprogressive  prac- 
tice. Indeed,  a  closer  analysis  would  most  probably  demon- 
strate that  it  is  matter  of  habit,  mainly,  and  that  neither 
principle  nor  calculation  has  much  to  do  with  it.  But  what- 
ever it  be,  and  whatever  it  may  cost  our  pride  to  be  frank 
about  it,  it  is  provincial  altogether,  and  not  metropolitan.  It 
is  pardonable  in  a  village  or  a  town,  but  is  unworthy  of  a 
great  and  prosperous  community,  with  such  capabilities  and 
such  a  possible  future  as  ours.  It  becomes  us  to  know,  and 
to  act  as  if  we  knew,  that  there  are  some  things  of  largest 
import  to  us,  outside  and  beyond  our  daily  work  and  busi- 
ness, for  which  we  must  not  lean  on  legislation,  and  which 
we  cannot  trust  to  individual  zeal  and  unorganized  effort. 
The  subject  is  one  of  large  scope,  in  itself  and  its  suggestions, 
but  this  is  not  the  place  to  deal  with  it,  except  in  so  far  as  it 
touches  the  special  occasion. 

While,  however,  we  assume,  upon  the  one  hand,  that  it  is 
the  duty  of  the  citizen — a  duty  coupled  with  his  broadest  and 
best  interests  as  such — to  promote  and  give  his  aid  to  public 
institutions  which  have  large  public  and  social  purposes  to 
serve,  it  must  be  conceded,  on  the  other,  that  he  has  the  right 


182  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

to  scrutinize  and  be  satisfied  before  he  gives.  Every  organ- 
ization which  calls  for  public  support  is  bound  to  show  cause 
why  it  should  exist  and  be  kept  alive,  and  it  is  because  this 
Institute  has  no  fear  of  such  challenge,  that  I  speak  so  earn- 
estly for  it  to-night.  I  have  already  endeavored  to  show  how 
and  why  its  aims  and  purposes  have  grown  fewer  and  more 
definite,  in  the  progress  of  time.  At  present,  the  clever, 
indefatigable  men  by  whom  it  is  directed  have  wisely  con- 
fined their  efforts,  for  the  most  part,  to  its  development  as  a 
school  of  art  and  design,  with  chief  and  especial  reference  to 
instruction  in  industrial  art.  There  was  a  time,  doubtless, 
in  the  memory  of  some  of  us,  when  argument  might  have 
been  required,  to  satisfy  a  promiscuous  audience,  anywhere 
in  the  United  States,  that  art,  in  any  of  its  applications  or 
departments,  was  other  than  a  dilletanteism  at  best,  if  not  a 
wasteful  luxury.  Mr.  DuMaurier's  "  Cimabue  Browns,"  if 
they  had  been  known  in  that  day,  would  have  been  pretty 
generally  accepted  as  the  genuine  type  of  all  art  worshipers. 
Even  the  word  "  aesthetics,"  however,  had  not  then  been 
invented.  Many  of  us  can  remember  when  an  American 
crowd,  on  the  most  jubilant  occasions,  was  indeed  very  dis- 
mal as  to  its  raiment,  and  when  the  bright  and  charming 
colors,  with  which  beauty,  like  the  earth  and  sky,  now  makes 
itself  more  beautiful  and  us  more  thankful,  were  looked  on, 
even  by  those  who  were  no  Puritans,  with  some  suspicion 
of  the  "Scarlet  letter."  Happily,  however,  that  geological 
period  has  passed.  Art  is  now  everywhere — in  the  gallery 
of  the  man  of  taste  and  wealth  ;  in  the  public  edifice  and  the 
private  dwelling ;  in  the  fabrics  that  we  wear,  the  books  that 
we  read  and  the  furniture  that  we  use — in  the  show-fronts  of 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  183 

the  shops,  the  handbills  and  circulars  of  trade,  and  the  very 
placards  on  the  street  corners.  The  Christinas  toy-book  of 
your  children  is  now  a  work  of  genius.  There  is  a  world  of 
grace  and  beauty  under  Kate  Greenaway's  window,  which 
would  have  dazzled  the  whole  "growing  infancy  "  of  the  first 
half  of  the  century.  Much  more  of  genuine  art  is  in  the  cast- 
ings of  a  poor  man's  stove,  to-day,  than  hung,  begilt,  upon 
the  walls  of  many  a  rich  man's  dwelling,  in  years  we  can 
recall.  The  "  trumpet-muzzled "  pitcher,  or  ewer,  of  past 
times,  which  we  may  see,  even  yet,  in  the  grimy  repose  of 
the  second-hand  furniture  shops,  is  now  supplanted,  in  the 
humblest  of  our  homes,  by  a  vase,  which,  though  it  be  of  the 
cheapest  and  coarsest  material,  has  all  the  lines  of  Grecian  or 
Etruscan  grace.  The  commonest  utensils  of  our  household 
service  have  now  a  beauty  of  form  and  of  color,  which  were 
once  taken  to  be  possible  only  in  things  of  great  price. 
Think  of  the  decorations  of  our  public  conveyances,  and 
conceive,  if  you  can,  on  what  prophetic  soul  the  dream  of 
an  Eastlake  coach  could  have  dawned,  in  the  days  when 
our  corner-stone  was  laid.  What  gardener  would  then  have 
dared  to  frighten  a  lawn  or  a  terrace  from  its  propriety,  by 
painting  his  flowTer  tubs  bright  scarlet?  Some  unprincipled 
person  once  undertook  to  classify  the  practice  of  the  law  as 
one  of  the  "  arts  of  design."  However  that  may  be,  it  cer- 
tainly was  not  a  decorative  art,  when  I  first  knew  it.  In 
the  office  of  the  lawyer,  as  in  the  counting-room  of  the  mer- 
chant, the  prime  object  seemed  to  be,  to  exclude  everything 
which  might  suggest  that  the  occupants  could  possibly  have 
a  taste  of  any  description.  They  went  as  near  as  could  be  to 
Tom  Paine's  libel  on  the  Society  of  Friends — that  if  they 


184  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

had  had  the  coloring  of  creation,  they  would  have  made  it 
all  drab.  We  have  got  the  better  of  that  greatly  nowadays, 
I  am  glad  to  say ;  and  there  are  merchants  and  lawyers  both, 
who  are  unlike  the  old  time  children  of  Israel,  in  this,  at 
least,  that  they  do  not  "  make  them  dens." 

All  this  means  something,  I  fancy.  It  does  not  mean  that 
we  are  a  people  of  artists.  It  is  very  far  from  meaning  that 
we  have  learned  to  know  art  and  to  judge  it  as  only  they  who 
know  it  can.  But  it  does  mean  that  to  a  people  who,  in  their 
struggle  with  the  wilderness,  thought  only  of  conquering  it, 
and,  in  their  struggle  for  predominance  and  wealth,  thought 
only  of  winning  them,  there  has  come,  in  the  hour  of  their 
greatness  and  success,  a  revelation  of  the  beauty  and  splen- 
dor which  may  illuminate  and  glorify  this  work-day  world. 
They  may  still  testify  their  sense  of  these  imperfectly  and 
poorly  ;  they  may  accept  the  false,  for  a  time,  and  think  it 
true ;  but  the  day  at  least  of  their  insensibility  and  uncon- 
sciousness, is  over.  What  contented  them  once  will  content 
them  no  longer.  They  have  learned  that  the  senses  have 
pleasures,  of  the  simplest  sort,  which  elevate  and  refine,  and 
the  delight  of  those  pleasures  they  will  not  forego.  If  they 
cannot  have  the  best  art,  they  will  have  the  best  they  can, 
and  for  them,  henceforward,  the  hand  of  the  artisan  must 
catch  a  spark  from  the  hand  of  the  artist.  Whether  this  is 
a  blessing,  or  is  not,  is  a  question  which  I  should  be  ashamed 
to  discuss.  But  whatever  else  it  be,  it  is  a  fact,  and  must  be 
dealt  with  as  such.  The  only  practical  question  is  whether 
we  can  afford  to  despise  it.  Can  we  let  our  people  go 
untaught  of  the  arts  of  construction  and  design,  when  all 
the  sister  communities  with  which  we  rank  ourselves  are 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  185 

straining  every  nerve  to  teach  them?  Are  the  mechanic- 
arts  so  small  an  element  in  our  prosperity,  that  we  can 
safely  let  them  rim  or  rust  in  the  worn-out  grooves  of  thirty 
years  ago?  When  the  demand  all  around  us  is  for  skilled 
workmen,  are  we  to  settle  down  to  workmen  without  skill  ? 
Are  the  people  who  are  born  to  the  necessity  of  labor,  to 
be  furnished  with  no  means  of  lightening  and  refining  it? 
Do  the  best  we  may,  we  can  never  dispense  altogether  with 
the  proletary  and  the  drudge ;  but,  in  Heaven's  name,  let  us 
help  him,  if  we  can,  to  the  means  of  being  something  better — 
let  us  make  the  hewers  of  wood  and  drawers  of  water  as  few 
as  may  be.  This  is  not  only  the  duty  of  a  republican  and 
Christian  community,  but  its  best  interest  as  well.  Think 
of  the  weariness  that  will  be  lightened  by  art-labor,  to  those 
who  are  weak  and  yet  must  toil.  Think  of  the  penniless  and 
helpless  women,  who  will  have  pleasant  and  congenial  work, 
away  from  rude  contact  and  piteous  temptation.  Think  of 
the  young  men  of  poor  estate,  whose  tastes  will  be  developed, 
whose  natures  will  be  refined,  and  to  whom  avenues  of  inde- 
pendence, and  perhaps  distinction,  will  be  opened.  Can  any 
man  look  another  in  the  face  and  say  that  these  things  are 
not  to  be  coveted  ?  And  yet,  how  shall  we  attain  them  ? 
The  children  of  toil  cannot  educate  themselves.  Of  the 
many  even  to  whom  work  brings  comfort,  it  brings  the 
means  of  but  little  more.  As  maturity  comes  on,  the  son 
takes  up  the  father's  tools,  and  his  education,  for  the  most 
part,  ends.  What  the  workshop  teaches  him,  more  or  less 
rudely,  he  learns,  and  little  else.  Unless  some  one  helps  him 
to  improvement  and  development,  it  is  only  exceptionally 
that  he  ever  reaches  them.  Individual  help  may  serve  in 
24 


186  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

individual  cases,  it  is  true ;  but  a  large  and  public  need  can 
only  be  supplied  by  public  effort  and  the  public  hand. 

Now,  what  has  this  community  attempted  in  that  direc- 
tion ?  Macaulay  reports  Sir  William  Maule  as  wont  to  say, 
that  "  private  schools  make  poor  creatures  and  public  schools 
sad  dogs."  But  what  of  no  schools  at  all  ?  In  this  city  of 
ours  and  this  year  of  grace,  there  is  not  one  single  public 
academy  of  art,  of  any  sort,  except  that  within  whose  almost 
naked  walls  we  are.  The  elementary  instruction  in  drawing 
which  is  given  in  our  public  schools,  is  necessarily  limited, 
and  a  large  portion  of  the  pupils  are  compelled  to  leave  them 
at  an  early  age,  as  the  report  of  the  commissioners  explains, 
in  order  to  learn  trades  for  their  future  support.  There  is 
no  public  institution  where  mechanical,  or  architectural,  or 
decorative  drawing,  or  drawing  or  modelling  from  nature  or 
from  casts,  is  pretended  to  be  thoroughly  taught,  and  espe- 
cially to  adults.  That  there  is  no  place  of  public  instruction 
in  the  use  of  colors,  in  water  or  in  oil,  goes  without  saying. 
In  fact,  the  want  of  sufficient  and  capable  teachers  is  as  con- 
spicuous and  natural,  as  the  want  of  encouragement  and  occu- 
pation for  them.  The  ladies  of  the  Decorative  Art  Society, 
with  commendable  zeal  and  excellent  success,  have  done  their 
best  in  the  good  work,  but  they  stand  almost  entirely  alone 
within  their  limited  sphere.  The  great  mass  of  the  wealth 
and  influence  of  the  community  keeps  aloof  and  gives  no  help. 
I  will  not  ask  whether  this  is  creditable.  Is  it  tolerable? 
But  for  the  recent  grant  of  a  small  annual  appropriation,  by 
the  wise  liberality  of  our  municipal  government,  the  means 
for  the  late  display  by  the  Institute — the  means,  indeed,  of 
making  that  display  possible — would  not  have  been  within 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  187 

its  reach.  Successful  as  this  has  been — standing  as  the  Insti- 
tute does,  among  the  largest  organizations  of  its  class  in  the 
country,  both  as  to  the  number  of  its  pupils  and  the  extent  of 
its  work — it  is  painful  to  contemplate  the  scanty  resources  by 
which  the  ability  and  energy  of  its  officers  and  teachers  have 
been  held  in  check.  One  almost  blushes  to  see  the  small 
array  of  borrowed  and  battered  casts  to  which  the  pupils 
have  been  confined,  in  drawing  and  modelling  after  the 
antique.  Of  objects  of  art  which  would  instruct  their  eyes 
and  keep  alive  and  stimulate  their  perception  and  sense  of 
beauty  in  form  and  color,  there  are  none  to  speak  of.  There 
is  little  or  nothing  to  create  the  atmosphere  in  which  alone 
art  can  draw  its  freest  breath.  Nor  is  this  all.  Of  the  day 
pupils  there  are  comparatively  few  of  the  class  who  live 
entirely  by  their  own  labor.  The  necessity  of  supporting 
themselves  keeps  constantly  away  large  numbers  of  female 
pupils,  to  whom  the  school  would  be  most  desirable  and  use- 
ful, and  to  whom  night  attendance  is  not  permissible.  In 
looking  at  the  excellent  and  promising  work  of  the  night 
classes,  it  is  touching,  to  any  one  of  sensibility,  to  think  that 
the  young  men  who  have  produced  it  have  done  so  at  the 
expense  of  their  rest  and  recreation,  after  long  days  of  toil 
for  bread.  What  a  benevolence  it  would  be,  on  the  part  of 
any  man  who  could  afford  it,  to  lay  the  foundation  of  a  fund 
by  which  the  more  promising  and  poorer  of  these  young  men 
and  women  might  be  assisted,  while  they  learned  what  the 
Institute  could  teach  them.  How  much  of  gratitude  a  rich 
man  would  deserve,  not  only  from  the  institution  and  its 
pupils,  but  from  every  man  and  woman  in  our  limits,  if  he 
would  endow  a  museum  of  industrial  art,  connected  with 


188  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

the  Institute — a  standing  exposition  of  the  capabilities  and 
methods  and  triumphs  of  skilled  and  educated  labor  !  In 
all  the  leading  European  nations,  and  in  many  of  the  States 
and  cities  of  America,  these  collections  are  the  noblest  and 
most  effective  effort  of  the  last  quarter  of  a  century,  in  the 
application  of  art  to  industry.  The  museum  is  treated  as  the 
necessary  adjunct  of  the  school,  and  together  they  teach  not 
only  the  artisan,  the  artist  and  the  citizen,  but  the  teachers 
more  than  all.  In  the  ample  and  admirable  report  of  a  spe- 
cial committee  appointed  by  this  Institute,  and  in  a  memorial 
address  by  its  managers  to  the  General  Assembly  of  Mary- 
land at  its  last  session,  this  subject  is  treated  with  a  fulness 
and  intelligence  which  leave  nothing  to  be  said ;  and  I  could 
wish  that  some  of  those  who  have  the  means  to  gratify  the 
impressive  suggestions  of  those  able  papers,  would  take  the 
thing  manfully  to  heart. 

Is  there  no  mechanic  in  all  Baltimore,  made  rich  by  merit 
and  labor  in  his  calling,  who  has  pride  enough  in  it  to  dedi- 
cate some  portion  of  his  earnings  to  its  elevation  and  improve- 
ment ?  Can  it  be  that  there  is  not  one  such,  who  remembers 
the  difficulties  of  his  own  early  manhood — the  hard  conflict 
between  his  desires  and  his  opportunities,  between  his  ambi- 
tion to  learn  and  his  lack  of  means  of  instruction  ?  llemem- 
beriug  these,  can  any  such  man  hesitate  to  give  something 
out  of  his  abundance,  to  remove  from  the  paths  of  others  the 
thorns  which  beset  his  own  ?  If  prosperous  industry  has 
relieved  him  from  the  necessities  and  taken  him  out  of  the 
working  ranks  of  his  class,  can  lie  fail  to  have  a  grateful 
sense  of  what  he  owes  it,  or  to  feel  that  he  will  best  pay 
his  debt  to  it  and  to  the  community  which  fostered  him,  by 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  189 

giving  a  helping  hand  to  those  of  his  own  people  who  are 
wrestling  too  hard  with  poverty  to  look  up  for  light?  Is 
there  no  merchant — no  other  man  of  business — in  Baltimore, 
who  feels  sufficiently  the  strength  of  the  tie  between  capital 
and  labor,  to  recognize  the  dependence  of  the  one  upon  the 
manhood,  the  intelligence,  the  elevation  of  the  other  ?  Can. 
such  men  fail  to  know  how  their  endowment  of  such  an 
institution  as  this,  with  their  money  and  their  sympathy,  in 
the  interest  of  mechanical  culture  and  development,  would 
strengthen  those  ties  and  sweeten  that  dependence?  I  know 
how  easy  it  is  to  indulge  in  that  most  delightful  form  of 
benevolence — the  giving  away  or  counselling  the  gift  of  other 
people's  money.  We  have  all  known  many  good  people,  who 
were  so  well  satisfied  with  dispensing  that  sort  of  bounty, 
that  they  were  content  to  live  and  die  without  being  ostenta- 
tious of  any  other.  Whatever  reproach,  therefore,  of  that 
sort,  the  suggestions  I  have  made  are  open  to,  I  must  accept. 
Let  me  protest,  however,  that  the  endowments  which  I  have  so 
earnestly  counselled  would  involve  no  very  enormous  draught 
upon  the  treasures  of  the  community.  We  learn,  from  the 
report  of  Provost  Morison,  that  the  cost  of  the  superb  col- 
lection of  casts  presented  by  Mr.  Garrett  to  the  Peabody 
Institute  has  thus  far  fallen  short  of  fifteen  thousand  dollars. 
The  foundations  of  an  art  museum,  in  this  Institute,  might 
be  laid  at  comparatively  small  expense.  Loans  to  it  wrould 
follow,  when  a  place  was  made  for  them,  and  liberal  gifts 
would  follow  loans.  The  beginning  of  a  fund  in  aid  of 
poorer  pupils  need  not  be  large.  Once  set,  the  good  exam- 
ple of  such  giving  would  be  followed.  One  man's  attention 
would  be  attracted  by  what  excited  the  sympathy  and  warmed 


190  ART  IN  EDUCATION. 

the  benevolence  of  another.  Every  one  who  gave  would  feel 
an  interest  in  the  object  of  his  bounty,  if  for  no  better  reason 
than  Sterne  gives,  when  he  says  that  we  water  a  weak  flower 
because  we  have  planted  it. 

I  have  already  trespassed  so  long  upon  your  patience,  that 
a  single  further  suggestion  will  end  my  appeal  to  your  indul- 
gence. It  has  long  been  ray  own  conviction,  that  one  of  the 
most  direful  needs  of  education,  in  this  State,  is  the  establish- 
ment of  a  technical  school  for  scientific,  mechanical  instruction. 
There  is  absolutely  nothing  of  the  sort  upon  the  soil  of  Mary- 
land— a  blot  upon  the  intellectual  and,  indeed,  the  business 
record  of  a  community,  whose  productive  and  mechanical 
capacity  is  so  large  and  varied  as  our  own.  The  class  for 
whom  such  instruction  is  needed  are  the  very  class  Avho 
cannot  afford  to  seek  it  at  a  distance,  and,  except  out  of 
Maryland,  no  Maryland  man  can  find  it.  Every  one,  who 
is  at  all  familiar  with  the  subject,  knows  that  in  all  the  large 
enterprises  where  mechanical  agencies  are  needed,  the  demand 
is  now  for  mechanics — not  only  skilled,  but  thoroughly  and 
scientifically  educated.  The  so-called  "  practical  man " — 
whose  knowledge  is  simply  empirical,  and  whose  facts  lie 
isolated  in  a  vacuum — is  being  pushed  fast  to  the  wall.  He 
is  a  victim  of  the  survival  of  the  fittest.  Our  mechanics  are 
at  a  sad  disadvantage,  from  the  absence  of  opportunity  to 
qualify  themselves  for  this  new  order  of  things.  An  honor- 
able and  lucrative  profession,  which  may  well  be  classed 
among  those  best  deserving  the  appellation  of  "  learned,"  is 
thus  practically  closed  to  a  large  number  of  the  most  vigorous 
intellects  of  our  state.  I  have  heard  with  great  satisfaction, 
that  it  is  proposed  to  convert  the  ancient  foundation  of  St. 


ART  IN  EDUCATION.  191 

John's  College,  at  Annapolis,  into  a  technological  school. 
But,  as  that  depends  upon  the  legislative  will,  and  as  the 
ways  of  legislatures  are  in  the  depths  of  the  sea — and  often 
in  many  other  depths — I  look  upon  this  project  with  more 
of  hope  than  of  confidence.  A  liberal  private  endowment  of 
such  a  department,  in  connection  with  the  Maryland  Institute, 
would  fill  up  the  measure  of  its  already  exceeding  usefulness, 
while  it  liberated  the  mechanical  education  of  our  people  from 
the  caprices  of  the  General  Assembly.  As  the  Masons  said, 
when  the  corner-stone  was  laid — "  So  mote  it  be  ! " 


ADDRESS 


DELIVERED  AT  THE 


EIGHTH  ANNUAL  COMMENCEMENT 


McDoNOGH  INSTITUTE, 


JUNE  3,  1882. 


JOHN  McDONOGH. 


~\T~ EARLY  forty  years  ago,  as  I  stood  upon  the  wintry 
-i-  i  banks  of  the  Mississippi  river,  a  short  distance  above 
New  Orleans,  waiting  with  a  friend  for  the  ferry,  I  saw  a 
skiff  approaching  from  the  other  side.  It  contained  a  single 
passenger,  whose  appearance,  as  he  landed  and  came  near  me, 
attracted  and  fixed  my  attention.  As  I  remember  him,  he 
was  a  singular-looking  old  man,  tall,  gaunt,  erect,  and  of 
strongly-marked  features,  with  an  expression  of  much  force 
and  more  austerity.  He  carried  a  very  large  and  plethoric 
umbrella,  like  that  which  we  are  all  so  familiar  with,  as  the 
companion  of  Mrs.  Gamp  and  the  "  unprotected  female."  He 
was  dressed  in  a  clean  but  well-worn,  if  not  threadbare,  suit 
of  black,  with  a  close-bodied  coat  and  white  cravat,  looking 
very  much  like  a  somewhat  ascetic  country  clergyman,  ill 
supported  by  his  parish.  I  give  you  the  type,  because  it  is 
unfortunately  familiar  enough  to  be  readily  recognized,  it 
being  strangely  true,  that  the  prohibition  against  muzzling 
the  ox  which  treadeth  out  the  corn,  appears  to  be  least  appre- 
ciated in  the  rural  districts,  where  one  would  think  that  its 
application  would  be  best  understood.  As  however,  the  ox 
has  given  way  to  the  threshing-machine,  which  does  not  eat, 

195 


196  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

perhaps  the  modified  analogy  may  be  supposed  applicable  to 
the  parson.  My  companion — to  return  to  my  narrative — 
perceiving  that  the  stranger  whom  I  have  described  was  an 
object  of  curiosity  to  me,  enquired  if  I  did  not  know  who 
he  was,  and  upon  my  replying  in  the  negative,  told  me  that 
he  was  John  McDonogh,  one  of  the  wealthiest  citizens  of 
Louisiana,  and  a  man  of  singularly  eccentric  habits,  some  of 
which  he  described.  Mr.  McDonogh's  appearance,  as  I  have 
said,  though  quite  consistent  with  eccentricity,  gave  certainly 
no  evidence  of  riches;  and,  upon  expressing  my  surprise  at 
the  wealth  ascribed  to  him,  I  was  informed  that  he  was  an 
extremely  close  and  penurious  man — in  fact,  to  be  plain — a 
confirmed  and  notorious  miser.  Not  taking  much  personal 
interest  in  that  sort  of  people,  it  is  probable  that  I  should 
never  have  thought  again  of  Mr.  McDonogh,  had  I  not  seen, 
some  five  years  afterwards,  the  announcement  of  his  death 
and  of  the  noble  and  unexpected  purposes  to  which,  by  a  will 
prepared  long  before  I  saw  him,  he  had  dedicated  the  hoard- 
ings of  his  lifetime.  The  picture,  which  I  have  endeavored 
to  draw  for  you,  came  back  to  me,  then,  upon  the  instant, 
with  all  the  freshness  of  the  first  impression ;  and  I  have  the 
scene  upon  the  river  shore  as  vividly  before  me  now,  with 
John  McDouogh,  "  in  his  habit  as  he  lived/'  as  if  years  and 
changes  and  war  and  misery  had  not  swept  in  between,  as 
dark  and  pitiless  as  the  waters  by  whose  rush  we  stood. 
Least  of  all  things,  as  you  may  well  imagine,  did  it  occur 
to  me,  when  I  saw  the  old  man,  for  the  first  and  last  time, 
and  heard  of  him  only  as  a  greedy  niggard,  that  here,  to-day, 
a  thousand  miles  from  where  I  left  him  and  after  more  than 
a  third  of  a  century,  I  should  be  standing,  amid  the  ripening 


JOHN  McDONOGH.  197 

fruits  of  his  benevolence  and  foresight,  to  praise  the  goodly 
works  which  have  lived  after  him  to  bless  him. 

It  is  not,  after  all,  a  barren  commonplace,  to  say  that  the 
best,  and  oftentimes — although  not  always — the  most  endur- 
ing record  of  remembrance,  is  that  which  is  written  on  men's 
hearts.  That  the  hope  and  desire  of  such  remembrance  was 
a  warm  and  moving  impulse  in  the  Founder  of  this  Institute 
is  plain,  from  the  touching  request,  in  his  will — the  "  little 
favor  "  as  he  humbly  calls  it — that  the  children  of  his  schools 
should  be  permitted,  every  year,  "  to  plant  and  water  a  few 
flowers"  around  his  resting  place.  But  if,  beyond  this 
natural  yearning  for  the  human  sympathy  of  which  he  had 
sought  so  little  while  he  lived — this  desire  to  prolong,  through 
all  the  summers  of  the  coming  years,  those 

"  Pious  thoughts,  which  visit,  at  new  graves, 
In  tender  pilgrimage — " 

he  felt,  in  his  loneliness  and  isolation,  the  longing  after  that 
"  Resurrection  in  the  minds  of  men," 

with  which  few  pulses  are  too  dull  to  throb,  he  could  not 
easily  have  built  for  himself  a  monument,  from  which  his 
name  would  be  less  likely  to  crumble  than  this  beneficent 
Foundation. 

Where  large  benevolence  is  the  spontaneous  outpouring  of 
a  habitual  and  natural  impulse,  there  is  nothing  to  say  of  it 
but  words  of  love  and  praise.  But  it  is  a  curious  problem, 
to  students  of  human  nature — this  prodigal  giving  of  large 
gifts,  by  men  whose  lives  have  been  spent  in  the  hungry  and 
eager  pursuit  of  accumulation ;  men,  for  whose  greed  no  gains 


198  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

were  too  petty,  for  whose  savings  no  mite  was  too  small.  We 
look  upon  it,  almost  with  the  wonder  and  perplexity  of  the 
fisherman  in  the  Arabian  story,  when,  out  of  the  paltry  copper 
vessel  which  he  held  in  his  hands,  there  rose  and  took  form 
before  him  a  genie,  "  twice  as  high  as  the  greatest  of  giants." 
And  yet  the  phenomenon  is  frequent  enough  for  us  to  be 
assured  that  it  has  a  fixed  and  certain  basis  in  the  constitution 
of  humanity.  Its  attendant  circumstances  generally  teach  us 
that,  like  almost  everything  which  springs  from  human  motive, 
it  is  as  apt  to  have  its  roots  in  the  weakness  as  in  the  strength 
of  our  nature.  Of  course,  it  is  hardly  worth  while  to  discuss 
the  liberality  which  merely  gives  away  what  the  giver  can 
no  longer  keep,  or  what,  if  kept,  he  cannot  enjoy.  In  the 
latter  case,  nevertheless,  he  has  to  overcome  the  desire  of  keep- 
ing and  the  pride  and  power  of  possession,  which,  although 
hardly  to  be  called  enjoyment,  are  full  of  the  elements  of 
passionate  selfishness  and  self-assertion.  To  a  man  in  the 
vigor  of  life,  or  even  in  the  decline  of  an  active  and  domi- 
nant career,  the  temptation  is  almost  irresistible,  to  postpone 
till  the  last  moment  the  surrender  of  what  he  has  striven  and 
lived  for,  and  what  chiefly  makes  the  influence  and  power  he 
is  accustomed  to  and  covets.  Analysing  the  processes  by  which 
that  temptation  is  so  frequently  and  conspicuously  overcome, 
it  is  bewildering  to  note  how  often  the  very  forces  which 
spring  from  self  are  those  by  which  its  more  grovelling 
tendencies  are  met  and  counteracted.  Ambition — the  very 
ostentation  of  riches — the  pride,  instead  of  the  joy,  of  giv- 
ing— the  poor  desire  of  notoriety — even  simple  vanity — all 
have  their  part  sometimes,  in  the  good  work.  This,  per- 
haps, is  only  saying,  with  all  deference  to  the  great  poet, 


JOHN  McDONOQH.  199 

that  we  are  more  than  "  half  dust,"  and  very  far  from  being 
"  half  Deity ; "  that  all,  except  the  most  privileged  natures, 
will  feel  the  spur  or  the  clog  of  their  human  frailty,  even 
when  their  faces  are  turned  and  their  path  is  towards  the 
heights.  In  spite,  too,  of  it  all,  when  conscious  weakness 
begins  to  prop  itself  upon  unselfish  endeavor ;  when  ambition 
is  willing  to  pale  its  fires  in  the  simplicity  of  doing  good  ; 
when  pride,  ostentation,  vanity — all  the  multitudinous  streams 
and  undercurrents  of  self-seeking — are  content,  no  matter  why 
or  how,  to  flow  into  channels  undefiled,  it  is  impossible  to 
help  feeling  and  rejoicing  that  the  waters  may  be  living 
waters,  though  they  be  not  free  from  the  stain  and  the  taste 
of  earth.  And  if  we  find  that  the  man,  in  the  midst  of  his 
getting  and  his  hoarding,  has  quietly  dedicated  a  part  of  his 
life  and  his  best  reflections  to  the  good  which  he  has  contem- 
plated ;  that  alone,  in  the  silence  of  his  own  thoughts,  he  has 
set  himself  to  work  it  out — narrowly,  and  in  a  poor  and  half 
enlightened  way,  if  you  please,  but  still  with  all  his  heart, 
according  to  his  lights — we  are  compelled  to  realize  that  the 
higher  purpose  has  got  the  better  of  the  lower  impulse,  and 
that  the  motives  have  been  transfigured  into  the  work  and 
glorified.  The  man  himself  has  grown,  and  has  grown 
better,  before  our  eyes,  with  the  growth  of  his  resolve. 
The  very  aim  at  something  higher  than  his  daily  level  has 
lifted  his  sight  upward,  and  his  nature  has  gone  up  with  it, 
as  he  looked.  He  may  have  wrapped  himself  in  discounts 
and  percentage  till  his  own  last  day  of  grace  came  round, 
and  his  grade  among  his  kind  may  have  been  the  lower  for 
his  traffic,  but,  at  least,  he  has  recognized  something  out- 
side of  it  and  of  himself,  and,  if  he  has  not  broken  his 


200  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

chains,    he   has   at    last   prevented    the   iron    from   entering 
altogether  into  his  soul. 

These  considerations  are  not  suggested,  here,  by  way  of 
apology  for  the  life  of  our  Founder  or  as  qualifications  of  the 
gratitude  which  enshrines  his  memory.  But,  upon  occasions 
like  this,  when  every  man  who  speaks  is,  in  some  sort,  a 
teacher,  it  is  not  becoming  that  the  moral  of  the  teaching 
should  be  open  to  misconstruction.  It  is  not  meet  that  the 
sense  and  acknowledgment  of  obligation,  the  grateful  tribute, 
the  affectionate  remembrance,  should  wear  the  seeming  of 
homage  to  wealth,  or  of  indiscriminate  reverence  for  those 
who  have  gathered  it,  merely  because  they  have  at  last  dis- 
pensed it.  At  the  same  time,  it  were  invidious  and  unworthy 
to  stand  in  the  light  of  a  dead  man's  bounties  and  dissect  too 
keenly  the  hand  which  bestowed  them.  The  true  line  lies 
between  respect  for  the  dead  and  respect  for  ourselves.  The 
honest  lesson  to  be  taught  is  that  which  the  life  truly  teaches. 
It  is  a  lesson  to  be  studied  in  charity  and  yet  not  blindly ; 
not  to  be  learned,  on  the  one  hand,  from  the  covetousness 
which  gathered,  nor,  on  the  other,  from  the  generosity  which 
gave,  but  from  the  man's  entire  career,  as  a  revelation  of 
himself — of  how  he  wrestled  with  his  nature  and  was  over- 
come by  it  or  overcame  it. 

The  fact  is,  that  people  generally  expect  too  much,  from 
those  whom  they  desire,  or  are  asked,  to  think  well  of  or  to 
praise.  Men  who  fill  a  large  place  in  the  world  and  are 
high  in  the  ranks  of  its  greatness,  are  apt  to  be  raised  by  the 
popular  enthusiasm  to  an  impossible  standard,  or  misjudged 
by  popular  disappointment,  because  they  do  not  come  up  to 
it.  If  Washington  had  been  as  he  is  generally  described  and 


JOHN  McDONOGH.  201 

regarded,  he  would,  of  course,  have  been  a  model  of  all  the 
virtues,  and  of  all  the  proprieties  as  well,  but  a  very  wooden 
model,  notwithstanding — a  lay  figure,  as  it  were,  among  the 
immortals.  The  popular  reverence  for  him  has  almost  made 
him  less  than  man,  in  its  effort  to  make  him  more.  The 
idea  of  the  Father  of  his  Country,  as  he  was,  with  the 
temptations  and  frailties,  the  temper  and  passions  of  com- 
mon men,  would  take  away  the  breath  of  half  his  worshippers 
among  the  multitude.  They  forget  that  he  belonged  to  the 
line  of  heroes  and  not  of  demigods,  and  that  his  greatness 
was  in  his  very  manhood.  It  is  only  on  the  stage — they 
should  remember — that  the  kings  of  men  fight  their  battles 
in  crowns  and  coronation  robes,  as  we  have  seen  Richard 
fight  on  Bos  worth  field.  As  people  judge  the  great  ones  of 
the  earth,  so  do  they  judge  its  humbler  benefactors  and  each 
other.  They  expect  a  character  to  be  all  of  a  piece — a  great 
man  to  be  always  great — a  liberal  man  to  be  always  gener- 
ous— a  mean  man  to  be  always  mean — a  great  general  to  be 
always,  as  it  were,  on  horseback.  There  can  be  no  wilder 
misconception  than  this,  of  human  character.  We  are  full 
of  antagonisms  which  never  counteract  each  other,  and  of 
inconsistencies  which  will  not  submit  to  be  averaged.  There 
is  no  such  thing  as  deducting  our  moral  debits  from  our 
moral  credits,  or  vice  versa,  and  getting  at  the  net  balance. 
If  our  mental  and  moral  constitution  were  like  an  algebraic 
equation,  where  equal  opposite  quantities  cancel  each  other 
and  can  be  stricken  out,  human  nature  would  be,  indeed,  a 
comparatively  simple  study.  But,  unhappily,  its  rules  do  not 
work  in  that  way.  It  is  not  a  matter  of  plus  and  minus 
merely.  Our  qualities  run,  as  it  were,  in  separate  grooves, 
26 


202  JOHN  McDONOOH. 

each  in  its  own  direction.  They  cross  each  other  rudely, 
sometimes,  and  check  each  other  frequently,  for  good  or 
for  ill,  but  they  seldom  agree  to  combine  or  compromise 
and  run  together. 

Humanity,  in  action,  is  perpetually  stumbling  over  itself, 
when  there  is  nothing  else  to  obstruct  it.  Half  the  time  it 
is  in  its  own  way.  It  constantly  thwarts  its  own  best  pur- 
poses and  disappoints  its  own  firmest  resolves.  So  too,  upon 
the  other  hand,  it  sometimes  starts  into  unexpected  virtue  or 
greatness,  for  a  while,  from  very  shame  at  its  own  littleness — 
happy  if  it  does  not  relapse,  as  suddenly,  into  littleness,  when 
it  counts  the  cost.  The  follies  and  blunders  of  great  and  wise 
men  are  among  the  chief  warnings  of  history.  The  backslid- 
ings  of  good  men  point  many  of  its  saddest  morals.  An 
ingenious  Spanish  poet  goes  so  far  as  to  develop,  in  a  clever 
epigram,  his  preference  for  the  ignorance  of  the  learned  over 
the  knowledge  of  the  ignorant.  He  assumes  them  both  to 
be  recognized  elements  of  comparison.  The  old  proverb, 
which  makes  our  surnames  "  go  by  contraries,"  seems  quite 
as  applicable  to  ourselves.  Some  of  the  bravest  men  who 
have  ever  lived  were  afraid  of  ghosts.  Hosts  of  those  who 
have  built  temples  in  all  devotion,  and  covered  their  altars 
with  offerings,  have  been  the  most  reckless  and  wicked  in 
violating  the  laws  of  the  Deity  to  whose  holy  name  they  were 
reared.  When  Lord  Byron  was  at  Missolonghi,  lavishing 
his  fortune  with  prodigal  enthusiasm,  on  the  freedom  and 
redemption  of  Greece,  he  is  said  to  have  quarrelled  almost 
daily  with  the  boatmen,  about  the  coppers  for  their  fares.  I 
am  afraid  that  George  Peabody  would  always  go  afoot,  when 
he  could,  rather  than  run  the  risk  of  being  overcharged  by  a 


JOHN  McDONOOH.  203 

cabman.  But  why  should  we  look  about  for  illustrations  of 
human  inconsistency,  when  there  is  scarcely  one  of  us  who 
has  not  had  his  own  temper  and  toleration  tried,  by  that 
compound  and  marvel  of  all  incompatibilities  and  contradic- 
tions, a  sincerely  devout  and  as  sincerely  intolerant  Christian  ? 
We  have  no  choice  but  to  take  men  as  they  are,  and  recognize 
the  truth,  that,  although  the  nature  of  the  stock  may  not  be 
altered  by  what  we  graft  on  it,  it  may  still  bring  forth 
precious  fruit,  according  to  the  graft.  A  thoughtful  writer 
has  well  and  wisely  said,  that  "Religion  does  not  alter 
idiosyncrasy.  When  a  fool  becomes  a  Christian,  he  will  be 
a  foolish  Christian.  A  narrow-minded  man  will  be  a  nar- 
row-minded Christian,  a  stupid  man  a  stupid  Christian." 
This  observation  is  quite  as  just  in  regard  to  the  operation 
of  other  than  religious  influences  and  processes  upon  charac- 
ter, and  as,  in  the  one  case,  we  welcome  the  change  which 
is  wrought  by  religion,  notwithstanding  it  may  have  been 
obstructed  and  is  qualified  by  natural  perversities,  so  must 
we  be  content,  in  the  others,  to  gather  our  figs  and  grapes, 
although,  by  some  mysterious  working  of  nature,  they  have 
come  to  us  from  among  thorns  and  thistles. 

A  man's  character,  as  a  general  rule,  is  apt  to  be  much 
more  faithfully  portrayed  in  the  life  which  he  leads,  than  in 
the  account  which  he  gives  of  himself,  with  the  best  inten- 
tions. The  one  is  a  photograph,  the  other  is  a  portrait  from 
memory,  by  a  partial  hand.  The  one  is  the  living  and 
instantaneous,  and  generally  the  natural  expression  of  feel- 
ing, principle  and  purpose.  The  other  is,  at  best,  a  descrip- 
tion and  a  recollection,  if  it  be  not,  as  is  most  likely,  an 
apology.  It  by  no  means  follows  that  the  story  is  true, 


204  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

because  there  is  an  honest  purpose  to  tell  it  truly.  Self- 
knowledge  is  as  essential,  in  such  case,  as  perfect  candor, 
and  is,  at  least,  as  rare.  We  are  quite  as  apt  to  apologize 
to  ourselves  as  to  other  people,  for  our  shortcomings,  and  there 
is  no  end  to  our  readiness  to  accept  our  own  explanations. 
If  there  be  anything  in  the  past  which  we  regret,  or  of  which 
we  are  ashamed,  we  try  to  persuade  ourselves  upon  retro- 
spection, that  there  was  something  in  the  circumstances  or 
our  motives,  which,  if  fully  understood,  would  justify  or  at 
least  excuse  it.  If  we  put  upon  record  anything  in  regard 
to  ourselves,  for  those  who  are  to  come  after  us,  we  naturally 
state  as  facts,  what  wre  have  satisfied  ourselves  must,  or  at 
least  ought  to  have  been  such ;  and  the  life,  which  repre- 
sented us  truly,  as  \ve  lived  it,  is  thus  handed  down  in  an 
entirely  new  edition,  "  revised  and  corrected  by  the  author." 
These  reflections,  or  something  like  them,  are  very  necessary 
to  be  made — indeed  we  can  hardly  help  making  them — when 
we  compare  the  actual,  practical  career  of  John  McDonogh, 
as  men  saw  it  and  knew  it,  with  the  picture,  taken  pro- 
fessedly from  the  inside,  which  he  gives  of  himself  in  his  last 
will  and  in  the  instructions  which  he  left  to  his  executors. 
He  protests  that  he  had  "  much,  very  much,  to  complain  of 
the  world,  rich  as  well  as  poor — "  without  pausing  to  reflect 
how  very  much  the  world,  as  he  dealt  with  it,  had  reason  to 
complain  of  him,  and  how  entirely  it  was  his  own  fault  if 
it  misunderstood  him.  In  his  relation  to  his  fellows  there 
was  no  trace  of  the  loving  kindness,  which,  he  fancied,  was 
the  inspiration  of  his  life.  It  was  nearly  all  the  other  way. 
He  had  no  friends ;  he  cherished  no  kindred ;  he  gave  noth- 
ing to  the  poor ;  he  was  grasping  and  exacting  in  all  his 


JOHN  McDONOQH.  205 

dealings,  harsh  and  unmerciful  to  his  debtors,  even  to  the 
widow  and  orphan — clamoring  for  his  pound  of  flesh,  no 
matter  how  much  of  the  heart's  blood  he  brought  away  with 
it.  And  yet,  he  protested  afterwards,  with  all  the  earnest- 
ness of  absolute  conviction,  that  during  his  whole  life  his 
soul  had  "  burned  with  an  ardent  desire  to  do  good,  much 
good,  great  good  "  to  his  fellow-man,  to  the  honor  and  glory 
of  his  Lord  and  Master.  He  even  apostrophised  the  victims, 
whom  he  sought  to  drive  to  the  wall,  as  "  infatuated  men  ! " 
because,  instead  of  confessing  judgment  and  allowing  them- 
selves to  be  sold  out,  in  the  interest  of  universal  and  post- 
humous benevolence,  they  employed  counsel  to  defend  them, 
and  were  sometimes  able  to  persuade  judges  and  juries  that 
their  defenses  were  just.  They  ought  to  have  seen,  he  says, 
that  he  was  suing  them  to  gather  moneys  for  them  and  their 
children  and  not  for  himself,  and  that  their  attempt  to  thwart 
him,  and  keep  their  own  money,  was  but  a  painful  illustra- 
tion of  "  the  frailty,  the  perversity  and  sinfulness  of  our 
common  nature."  Consequently,  when  he  had  a  verdict 
against  him  and  moved  for  a  new  trial,  he  describes  that 
very  commonplace  and  frequent  transaction  as  a  righteous 
struggle,  on  his  part,  against  the  "  injustice  and  ingratitude" 
of  the  defendants ;  and  he  declares  that  he  "  swerved  neither 
to  the  right  hand  nor  the  left,"  but  "  persevered  in  an  onward 
course,  determined,  as  the  steward  and  servant  of  his  Master, 
to  do  them  good,  whether  they  would  have  it  or  whether  they 
would  not  have  it."  If  the  courts  assisted  them  in  not  hav- 
ing it,  he  cried  out  against  the  courts.  "  Of  Judges  and  their 
judgments,"  he  exclaims,  "  I  have  also  much,  very  much  to 
complain."  He  had,  in  fact,  grown  old  in  the  world,  like 


206  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

Carlyle,  without  finding  any  one  particular  by  good  in   it, 
except  his  parents  and  himself. 

Obviously  there  is  a  great  deal  to  protest  and  rebel  against 
in  all  this — much  that  consideration  for  the  dead  does  not 
require  us  to  accept.  It  is  the  language  of  an  enthusiast, 
proclaiming  the  holiness  and  the  constancy  of  his  own  enthu- 
siasm. It  is  the  light  of  the  present  thrown  back  on  the 
darkness  of  the  past.  It  is  the  natural  endeavor  of  a  man 
who  persuades  himself  that  he  is  an  apostle,  to  reconcile  his 
old  and  wicked  works  with  his  new  and  burning  faith.  The 
history  of  mankind  is  full  of  such  delusions  and  self-deception, 
and  the  duty  of  respect  is  fulfilled  by  the  world,  when  it 
recognizes  their  sincerity.  We  are  not  bound,  however,  to 
forget  that  self-delusion  is  delusion,  because  it  may  happen  to 
be  honest  and  sincere.  That  McDonogh  was  thoroughly  sin- 
cere in  the  "  reflections  and  opinions "  which  he  directed  to 
be  recorded  and  preserved  by  his  executors,  I  think  it  impos- 
sible to  doubt.  He  believed  in  himself,  and  they  were  the 
revelation  of  his  creed.  They  bear,  all  over  them,  the  stamp 
of  conviction,  not  only  genuine  but  intense.  I  am  not  sure 
that,  at  last,  his  intellect  did  not  hover  perilously  near  the 
point  at  which  men  mistake  their  desires  and  convictions  for 
direct  and  divine  inspiration.  Though  he  did  not  illustrate 
in  his  life — certainly  not  through  the  greater  part  of  it — the 
regenerating  influences  of  the  religion  in  which  he  was  trained, 
he  obviously  lived,  within  himself,  in  what  he  supposed  to  be 
a  religious  atmosphere — more  or  less  hazy,  no  doubt,  and  cer- 
tainly unwholesome — and  his  modes  of  thinking  and  feeling 
had  that  solemn  cast  which  gives  a  sort  of  severe,  religious 
sanction,  in  some  men's  minds,  to  their  own  carnal  resolves 


JOHN  McDONOOH.  207 

and  unregenerate  will.  There  is  a  ring  in  his  phraseology, 
which  shows  that  he  was  a  frequent  reader  of  the  Old  Testa- 
ment, and  that,  like  many  men  before  and  after  him,  he 
conceived  a  certain  force  and  perhaps  sacredness  to  be  given 
to  a  statement,  a  doctrine  or  a  proposition,  not  very  forcible 
or  sacred  in  itself,  by  clothing  it  in  the  language  of  Scripture. 
There  is  no  reason  to  doubt  that  he  was  under  much  of  the 
same  sort  of  influence,  in  that  regard,  which  justified  the 
Puritans  to  themselves  in  exterminating  Indians,  under  the 
classification  of  "  the  heathen."  His  temperament  was  obvi- 
ously melancholy,  and  his  thoughts  were  bitter  and  gloomy. 
The  earth,  altogether,  was  a  dismal  place  to  him,  except 
from  the  point  of  view  of  real  estate,  which  he  said  that  he 
regarded  as  "  the  only  thing  in  this  world  of  ours,  which 
approaches  anything  like  permanency."  Altogether,  with 
his  tendencies  and  peculiarities  developed  and  exaggerated 
by  seclusion,  fanaticism  and  morbid  introspection,  it  is  not 
only  not  strange,  but  is  in  every  way  natural,  that  he  should 
have  blended  and  confounded  his  desires  and  his  delusions 
with  the  realities  of  his  life,  and  should  have  ended  by 
believing,  with  all  the  fierce  intensity  of  a  self-concentred 
nature,  that  he  had  been  engaged,  from  the  beginning,  in 
laying  the  foundations  of  the  mission,  upon  which  he  felt 
himself,  at  the  close,  to  have  been  sent. 

It  is  enough  for  us  to  know  and  recognize  that  he  did  this 
in  good  earnest  and  without  doubting,  and  that,  whether  he 
deceived  himself  or  not,  he  was  unconscious  of  meaning  to 
deceive  any  one  else.  He  was  not  the  first  man  whose  faith 
was  better  than  his  works.  It  may  be,  after  all,  that  he  was 
right  in  his  estimate  of  himself,  and  that  his  life  was  but 


208  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

another  of  those  mysteries  of  humanity,  which  are  none  the 
less  actual  because  they  cannot  be  fathomed.  But  I  have 
felt,  as  I  have  said  already,  that  I  could  not  do  justice  to  the 
young  people  in  whose  presence  I  speak,  and  who  will  read 
the  life  of  their  benefactor  in  that  spirit  of  admiration  which 
is  born  of  gratitude,  without  indicating  in  what  it  should  be 
a  warning  to  them,  and  in  what  an  example.  I  could  not 
hold  up,  as  I  do,  to  their  imitation,  the  prudence,  the  intelli- 
gence, the  indomitable  will,  the  industry  and  patient  thrift 
of  John  McDonogh — his  manly  independence,  his  self-reliance 
and  self-denial — without  teaching  them  that  these  admirable 
qualities  have  no  necessary  relation  to  the  grim  and  ignoble 
traits  with  which  they  were  associated  in  his  life  and  con- 
duct. They  must  learn — and,  under  the  excellent  guidance 
to  which  they  fortunately  are  entrusted,  they  will  not  be 
permitted  to  forget — that  they  were  born  to  live  in  this 
world,  not  merely  to  die  out  of  it — and  that  their  appointed 
place  is  in  the  midst  of  their  fellow-men,  discharging  man- 
fully the  duties,  wrestling  cheerfully  with  the  responsibilities, 
and  exchanging  kindly  the  charities,  of  life.  Because  the  for- 
tune which  McDonogh  was  enabled  to  scatter  from  his  death- 
bed, had  been  gathered  and  kept  together  by  all  the  devices  of 
money-getting  and  money-saving  which  commonly  contract 
the  heart  and  debase  the  spirit,  these  children  of  the  bounty 
of  his  better  days  must  not  be  deceived  into  believing  that 
the  right  way  to  the  benevolence  which  crowned  his  life,  lies 
through  the  dark,  repulsive  paths  by  which  he  reached  it. 
Their  homage  to  his  memory  will  be  none  the  less,  from  their 
learning  to  distinguish  between  his  virtues  and  his  faults,  and 
taking  to  their  bosoms  the  instructive  lessons  of  both. 


JOHN  McDONOQH.  209 

And  now  let  us  pass  for  a  moment  from  the  Founder  to 
his  Foundation. 

The  old  man  sleeps  in  Greenmount,  over  the  hills  yonder, 
and  the  flowers  were  reverently  strewn  upon  his  grave,  yester- 
day, by  the  young  hands  from  which  he  asked  and  merited 
that  tribute.  The  marble  pile  round  which  they  lie,  scarce 
faded  yet,  is  what  is  called  his  monument,  but  his  true  monu- 
ment is  all  about  us  here.  Nor  is  it  here  only — it  is  wherever 
the  blessings  of  his  bounty  have  been  spread — wherever  those 
whom  it  has  blessed  are  useful,  happy,  upright  men.  Already, 
during  the  short  period  of  the  existence  of  this  Institute,  one 
hundred  and  fifty  educated  youths,  on  whom,  but  for  its  aid, 
the  burden  of  poverty  and  ignorance  would  have  rested  with 
all  its  paralysing  weight,  have  gone  forth  into  society,  fitted 
for  its  struggles  and  deserving  its  rewards.  Into  almost  every 
walk  of  useful  and  active  life  they  have  carried  the  manly 
and  substantial  qualities  of  mind  and  character,  which  it  has 
been  the  special  object  and  effort  of  this  Institute  to  form  and 
foster.  According  to  their  ability  and  intelligence,  they  have 
chosen  or  found  their  respective  paths  in  life,  and,  whether 
as  successful  candidates  for  university  honors,  or  as  workers 
in  the  less  ambitious  ways  of  mechanical  or  industrial  life, 
it  is  pleasant  and  encouraging  to  know,  that  scarcely  one  of 
them  has  proven  unworthy  of  his  trust  and  training.  For 
so  happy  and  uncommon  a  result,  the  trustees  of  the  Institute 
are  indebted,  not  only  to  the  able,  zealous  and  most  efficient 
superintendence  which  it  has  been  their  good  fortune  to  secure 
for  their  school,  but  to  the  wise  regulations,  which  they  have 
themselves  adopted,  in  regard  to  the  admission  of  its  pupils. 
While  respecting,  as  is  their  duty,  the  qualification  of  poverty 
27 


210  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

prescribed  by  the  Founder,  they  have  not  chosen  to  regard 
it  as  the  only  one.  Compelled  to  select  a  few,  from  among 
the  many  to  whom  indigence  was  a  common  recommendation, 
they  have  carefully  endeavored  to  choose  those  whose  charac- 
ter, capacity  and  associations  were  most  likely  to  furnish  a 
good  soil  for  the  good  seed.  Any  mistakes  in  their  choice 
they  have  not  hesitated  to  correct,  at  once,  by  making  the 
unworthy  or  incapable  give  way  to  those  who  were  capable 
and  worthy.  In  both  appointments  and  removals,  they  have 
been  resolutely  scrupulous  to  exclude  personal  considerations 
of  all  sorts ;  and  it  is  as  creditable  to  them,  as  it  is  to  the 
municipal  corporation  from  which  they  derive  their  authority, 
that  political  influences  have  not  been  permitted,  for  an  instant, 
to  defile  the  current  of  the  Founder's  charity.  Among  the 
competent  and  successful  teachers  who  are  now  engaged  in 
the  work  of  the  Institute,  there  are  already  three  of  its  own 
graduates,  and  there  is  little  room  for  doubt  that,  within  a 
reasonable  period,  the  places  which  may  become  vacant  in  its 
corps  of  tutors  and  professors,  will  be  mainly  filled  from  the 
ranks  of  its  own  pupils. 

This  is  not  the  place  to  discuss,  with  any  fulness,  the 
scheme  and  methods  of  instruction  which  the  trustees  have 
adopted.  In  all  substantial  particulars,  and  with  no  change, 
except  for  the  better,  in  details,  they  have  strictly  adhered 
to  the  spirit  of  the  Founder's  instructions.  They  have  not 
been  tempted  by  the  natural  and  happily  prevailing  tendency 
towards  higher  education,  to  forget  that  they  are  charged  with 
the  duty  of  sending  forth  young  men  into  the  world,  who 
are  to  be  fitted  chiefly  for  its  practical  and  material  tasks 
and  duties.  At  the  same  time,  they  have  repudiated  the 


JOHN  McDONOOH.  211 

old,  narrow  and  fast-departing  notion  of  purely  practical 
instruction,  which  so  frequently  resulted  in  little  more  than 
formulating  ignorance  and  subordinating  the  intellect  to  the 
hands.  A  glance  at  the  "  Course  of  Instruction  "  which  they 
have  prescribed,  will  sufficiently  disclose  with  what  care  and 
skill  they  have  chosen  the  middle  line — discarding  a  super- 
ficial and  barren  inculcation  of  the  simple  rudiments  and 
laying,  with  reasonable  thoroughness,  the  foundation  of  a 
liberal,  though  practical,  education.  Mr.  McDonogh  him- 
self, as  might  well  be  supposed,  was  not  very  broad  or 
enlightened  in  his  views  upon  this  subject.  While,  for 
instance,  he  did  not  omit  a  brief  direction  that  his  bene- 
ficiaries should  be  instructed  in  "  the  science  generally  of 
agriculture,"  he  was  far  more  particular  in  describing,  because 
he  better  understood,  what  he  meant  by  "  the  art  of  hus- 
bandry or  farming ; "  and  if  the  time  of  the  pupils  of  the 
Institute  were  to  be  literally  dedicated,  in  the  detail  which 
he  prescribed,  to  "  plowing,  hoeing,  harrowing,  spading,  mow- 
ing, reaping,  gathering,  housing,  thrashing,  sowing,  planting, 
gardening,  carting  and  waggoning,  making  of  all  agricultural 
instruments,  rearing  and  attending  to  animals,  rearing  and 
attending  to  the  silk  worm  and  the  mulberry  tree,  etc.,  etc., 
etc.,  etc.,  at  the  same  time  that  they  are  progressing  in  their 
education,"  it  is  not  difficult  to  characterize  or  measure  the 
"education,"  in  which  they  would  be  likely  to  "progress." 
Between  the  outdoor  work,  which  was  thus  in  his  mind,  and 
the  large  devotion  of  their  indoor  hours,  which  he  so  strenu- 
ously inculcated,  to  "  instruction  in  divine  psalmody  or  sacred 
music,"  their  four  allotted  years  of  preparation,  it  is  safe  to 
say,  would  have  gone  by,  without  their  being  particularly 


212  JOHN  McDONOOH. 

fitted  for  any  other  occupation  than  that  of  excellent  farm 
laborers  on  week  days,  and  perhaps  of  indiiferent  choristers 
on  Sundays.  From  these  details,  which  would  have  nar- 
rowed the  sphere  and  belittled  the  results  of  the  Founder's 
benevolence,  and  would  have  disappointed,  beyond  measure, 
his  hopes  and  calculations,  it  was  the  duty  of  the  trustees  to 
rise  to  a  higher  conception  of  his  wishes.  It  became  them  to 
read  the  charter  of  his  bounty  in  the  light  of  the  great  pur- 
pose which  he  proclaimed — that  of  rescuing  destitute  youth 
from  ignorance  and  idleness,  and  "  bringing  them  up  in 
knowledge  and  virtue,  to  industry  and  labor."  To  this 
consummation  it  was  their  duty  to  subordinate  all  lesser 
considerations  and  details,  and  it  is  a  source  of  no  ordinary 
gratification,  to  all  who  are  familiar  with  their  progress, 
that  they  have  discharged  that  duty  with  such  persistent 
intelligence  and  firmness. 

Nor  have  the  trustees  of  the  institution  been  less  successful 
in  their  management  and  application  of  its  material  resources. 
John  McDonogh  was  very  far  less  rich  than  he  supposed. 
Indeed  there  is  no  stronger  evidence  of  the  dominion  of  his 
dreams  over  him,  than  the  future  which  he  anticipated  from 
the  institutions  for  which  he  provided,  and  the  dimensions  to 
which  he  fancied  that  their  resources  would  expand.  The 
pupils  of  this  single  institution,  he  supposed,  would  number 
from  one  to  two  thousand,  from  the  first,  and  he  thought 
that  with  ordinary  care,  they  would  be  at  least  ten  thousand, 
in  time.  The  city  of  Baltimore  was  not  alone  in  his  con- 
templation. He  persuaded  himself  that  his  charity  would 
reach  not  only  to  the  chief  maritime  cities  of  the  Union— 
"  which  are  too  generally  hot-beds  of  vice,"  as  he  added  in 


JOHN  McDONOGH.  213 

parenthesis — but  to  the  other  large  cities  of  the  different 
States,  and  even  to  the  towns  and  villages  of  Maryland. 
Archdeacon  Paley  is  reported  to  have  assigned,  as  a  reason 
for  not  allowing  his  wife  and  daughters  to  contract  shop- 
debts,  that  "  ready  money  is  a  marvellous  restraint  upon  the 
imagination  " — yet  here  was  a  man,  whose  whole  life  had  been 
dedicated  to  ready  money,  and  whose  imagination,  neverthe- 
less, in  that  very  regard,  was  as  boundless  as  romance.  It  is 
true  that  his  estate  had  to  pass — as  the  large  estates  of  child- 
less men  are  apt  to  pass,  in  this  country — through  the  dread 
ordeal  of  protracted  and  enormous  litigation.  The  courts 
and  juries,  of  which  he  had  so  bad  an  opinion  in  his  lifetime, 
had  their  chance  at  his  goods  and  chattels,  lands  and  tene- 
ments, after  he  was  gone.  The  lawyers  too,  of  whom  I  regret 
to  say  that  he  did  not  think  much  more  highly  than  of  the 
tribunals,  had  their  opportunities  of  posthumous  revenge  and 
reprisal.  In  one  way  or  another,  the  lamb  passed  through 
many  thickets  and  left  much  of  its  fleece  upon  -the  brambles 
by  the  wayside.  The  valuation  also  which  McDonogh  had 
set  upon  many  of  his  investments  turned  out  to  be  fanciful 
and  often  absurd.  He  had  put  faith  as  well  as  money  in 
swamp  lands,  where  the  money,  at  least,  went  down,  like 
Raveuswood,  among  the  quicksands.  And  then  the  war 
came,  and  after  the  war  came  reconstruction,  as,  after  death, 
the  judgment.  It  is  no  wonder  therefore  that  the  dreams 
and  hopes  of  the  enthusiast,  which  were  spread  wide  enough 
to  cover  the  nation,  should  have  been  folded,  like  the  tent  of 
the  magician,  until  their  "stuff"  and  substance  could  be  held 
almost  in  a  single  hand.  And  yet,  though  comparatively 
small,  the  resources  of  this  Institute,  I  am  happy  to  say,  are 


214  JOHN  McDONOGH. 

actually  large.  Through  faithful  and  judicious  management, 
its  interest-bearing  capital,  to-day,  is  over  seven  hundred 
thousand  dollars.  The  whole  value  of  the  trust  estate,  at  a 
fair  and  moderate  estimate,  is  at  least  nine  hundred  thousand. 
Out  of  the  revenue  of  the  trust,  without  borrowing  money 
or  trenching  upon  capital,  and  with  that  admirable  sense  of 
appropriateness  which  is  the  essence  of  good  taste,  the  trustees 
have  erected  the  stately  and  commodious  edifice  in  which  we 
hold  this  first  commencement.  The  school  which  began,  in 
1873,  with  but  twenty-one  pupils,  has  now  fifty — all  that  it 
can  hold.  The  contemplated  addition  to  the  building  will 
enable  it  soon  to  receive  three  times  that  number.  For  the 
vacancies  which  will  exist  upon  the  graduation  of  the  present 
class,  there  are  more  than  seventy  applicants.  Numbers  of 
persons  whose  means  enable  them  to  furnish  the  best  educa- 
tion to  their  children,  are  applying  for  their  admission  as 
paid  pupils.  Except  as  a  means  of  increasing  the  charities 
of  the  institution,  it  is  hardly  possible  for  such  applications 
to  be  favored,  but  they  testify,  with  obvious  sincerity,  to 
the  excellence  of  its  teaching  and  its  high  standard  of  dis- 
cipline and  morals. 

Such  is  the  condition  of  the  Institute.  Without  debt  and 
freed  from  litigation — without  a  single  obligation,  beyond 
those  of  charity  and  duty — it  stands  erect,  for  the  first  time, 
under  its  own  roof-tree,  with  a  noble  future  flashing  in  its 
face.  May  it  continue  as  heretofore,  to  be  worthy  of  its 
destiny,  under  the  smiles  of  Him  who  has  made  of  charity 
a  benediction  !  Its  Founder  was  sanguine  enough  to  express 
the  conviction  that  it  would  not  long  remain  the  only  one  of 
its  kind,  in  the  vicinity  of  that  "  noble,  philanthropic  and 


JOHN  McDONOOH.  215 

high-minded  city,  Baltimore."  Let  us  persuade  ourselves 
that  this  expression  was  not  rash.  Let  us  believe  that  there 
are  hearts,  in  the  city  of  the  old  man's  love,  from  which  this 
conviction  will  be  echoed  yet.  Let  us  hope  that  there  are 
men  among  us,  to  whom  the  possession  of  great  wealth  may 
yet  suggest  the  association  of  their  names  and  bounty,  with 
those  of  McDonogh  and  Peabody,  Hopkins  and  Pratt. 


THE  JOHNS   HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY  IN  ITS 
RELATIONS  TO  BALTIMORE. 


AN    ADDRESS 


DELIVERED   AT   THE 


SEVENTH    ANNIVERSARY 


JOHNS    HOPKINS    UNIVERSITY, 


FEBRUARY  22,  1883. 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 


MR.  PRESIDENT; 

GENTLEMEN  OF  THE  BOARD  AND  OF  THE  FACULTY  : 

I  AM  very  sensible  of  the  honor  which  has  been  done  me 
by  the  invitation  to  take  part  in  your  proceedings 
to-day,  and  yet  I  have  accepted  it  with  considerable  hesita- 
tion. The  topics  which  are  most  appropriate  to  the  occasion 
will  not  bear  superficial  treatment  in  such  a  presence,  and  it 
is  not  easy  for  a  man  of  my  intellectual  habits  and  restricted 
pursuits  to  give  them  any  other.  The  problems  of  educa- 
tion, and  particularly  of  the  higher  education,  are  occupying, 
at  this  moment,  not  only  the  best,  but  the  best-trained  minds 
of  the  world ;  and  their  study  and  solution  have  become  a 
noble  specialty,  into  which  the  best  intentions  will  not  justify 
rash  intrusion.  One  may  be  permitted  to  say  that  what  are 
irreverently  called  "  crotchets  "  are  not  altogether  absent  from 
even  the  higher  educational  atmosphere,  and  there  is,  there- 
fore, the  greater  reason  for  dispensing  with  the  crude  specula- 
tions of  desultory  thinkers. 

I  am  not  sure  that  it  is  not  one  of  the  most  natural  results 
of  the  system  which  this  university  represents  and  embodies, 

219 


220  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

to  force  upon  men  who  were  educated  in  our  American  col- 
leges of  half  a  century  ago,  a  strong  and  perhaps  not  very 
agreeable  sense  of  the  comparative  shortcomings  of  their  own 
early  intellectual  training.  I  refer,  especially,  of  course,  to 
those  who  passed — at  once  and  young,  as  was  the  custom  then 
even  more  than  now — there  being  opportunity  for  little  else — 
from  undergraduate  life  into  professional  or  other  special  and 
absorbing  avocations.  To  the  most  of  these  I  am  persuaded 
that  their  collegiate  course  was  chiefly  valuable,  as  a  memory, 
a  discipline,  and  an  influence ;  and  that,  apart  from  these,  it 
contributed  comparatively  little  to  the  permanent  material 
out  of  which  their  intellectual  life  was  constructed.  Of  my 
own  profession,  I  think  I  can  safely  say,  that  by  far  the 
most  of  them  were  well  content,  if  they  could  keep  alive  the 
scholarly  and  classic  tastes,  which — whether  the  scholarship 
was  much  or  little  according  to  later  tests — were  bred  and 
nurtured  in  their  college  days,  and  of  which  no  one  knows 
the  solace  and  enjoyment  half  so  well  as  they  whose  minds 
run  in  one  life-long,  narrow  groove,  yearning  and  longing, 
it  may  be,  all  the  while,  for  something  broader  and  better. 
Face  to  face  with  the  precise  and  accurate  teaching  and 
knowledge  of  to-day,  the  systematized  and  ceaseless  investi- 
gation, the  critical  ordeals,  the  perpetual  search  after  truth 
and  its  fearless  recognition  when  tested  and  established,  the 
exact  and  scientific  methods,  the  definite  results,  the  scorn  of 
routine  and  the  rude  questioning  of  tradition,  which  charac- 
terize the  modern  education — face  to  face,  I  say,  with  these, 
we  remember  our  curricula  and  college  examinations  of  the 
days  gone  by  with  feelings  more  or  less  grave,  according  to 
each  man's  sense  of  humor.  It  is  not  altogether  human,  of 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  221 

course,  for  the  undergraduate  of  those  times  to  forget,  or  even 
cease  to  love,  the  shade  where  he  sported  with  his  own  aca- 
demic Amaryllis — old  though  she  be  and  faded  now — but, 
clearly,  to  the  dullest  perception,  a  new  order  of  things  has 
arisen,  and  a  better.  Whether  it  be  a  development,  or  a  new 
species,  I  remember  nothing  of  my  college  learning  which 
would  enable  me  to  determine. 

There  is  one  thing,  however,  which  reconciles  a  man  of  the 
old  dispensation  to  the  risk  of  going  beyond  his  depth  on 
one  of  these  occasions,  and  that  is  their  total  freedom  from 
pretension.  I  have  always  greatly  admired  the  quiet  and 
unostentatious  way  in  which  the  anniversaries  of  this  univer- 
sity have  been  kept — instead  of  being  what  is  commonly 
called  "celebrated" — the  notable  contrast  between  the  sim- 
plicity of  the  announcements  and  the  large  and  progressive 
results  which  are  announced.  This  seems  to  me  not  only 
the  natural  result  of  the  plan  and  working  of  the  university, 
and  for  that  reason  of  great  importance  and  significance,  but 
very  admirable  in  itself  and  as  an  example.  Small  things 
are  so  habitually  called  by  large  names  among  our  people, 
and  our  little  fishes — to  use  Goldsmith's  criticism  of  John- 
sou — are  so  apt  to  speak  like  great  whales,  that  the  spectacle 
of  an  institution  like  this,  discarding  superlatives  altogether, 
and  telling  its  yearly  story  in  a  quiet  way,  without  other 
emphasis  than  that  inherent  in  the  story  told,  is,  to  say  the 
least  of  it,  very  edifying.  One  is  almost  able  to  flatter  him- 
self, sometimes,  that  the  general  tendency  to  public  speaking, 
in  this  country,  is  something  less  than  it  once  was,  and  that 
active  elocution  is  not  now  quite  so  commonly  regarded  as  the 
natural  state  of  man.  But,  be  this  as  it  may,  the  "  tuba, 


222  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

mirum  spargens  sonum,"  is  beginning  to  go  out  of  fashion 
as  an  accompaniment  to  what  is  worth  telling,  and  we  can- 
not but  welcome,  as  a  public  service  in  that  direction,  every 
conspicuous  demonstration  that  the  soberer  style  is  all-sufficient 
for  the  largest  purposes  of  communication  with  the  people. 

I  alluded,  just  now,  to  my  own  profession — that  of  the 
law — and  I  hope  that  I  am  not  disloyal  to  it  in  expressing 
my  gratification  that  the  group  with  which  it  is  generally 
associated,  under  the  style  of  "the  learned  professions,"  has 
ceased,  except  in  common  and  traditionary  parlance,  to  mon- 
opolize that  title.  Of  course,  I  should  be  very  far  from  feel- 
ing gratification  at  their  being  less  learned  than  heretofore — if 
such  were  the  case.  What  I  mean  to  speak  of,  as  a  ground 
for  universal  congratulation,  is  the  fact  that  modern  education 
has  developed  many  other  professions — all  quite  as  worthy, 
to  say  the  least,  of  being  called  "  learned,"  and  some  of  them 
involving  the  largest  amplitude  and  variety  of  learning  which 
the  intellect  can  grasp.  In  speaking  of  these  new  professions, 
I  deal  with  them,  not  merely  as  groups  of  students,  devoted 
to  research  and  discovery,  and  "  hiving  thought " — which  is 
by  far  too  much  the  common  notion  of  them — but  as  bodies 
of  eminently  practical  men,  whose  whole  objects  and  methods 
are  practical,  in  the  truest  meaning  of  the  word,  and  whose 
business  and  purpose  it  is,  not  merely  to  find  the  ore  of 
science,  but  to  dig  it,  and  bring  it  to  the  light,  and  make  its 
products  malleable,  and  adaptable  to  all  the  manifold  uses  of 
society.  No  one  has  illustrated  in  briefer  phrase  than  Mr. 
Huxley  the  action  and  reaction  of  the  practical  and  theoreti- 
cal upon  each  other  in  science.  I  refer  to  his  observation, 
that  while  "  all  true  science  begins  with  empiricism,"  it  is 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  223 

true  science,  "  exactly  in  so  far  as  it  strives  to  pass  out  of  the 
empirical  stage  into  the  deduction  of  empirical  from  more 
general  truths."  With  the  spread  and  progress  of  these  new 
professions,  the  old  idea  of  the  "  practical  man,"  the  simple 
empiric — uneducated  for  the  most  part,  except  in  so  far  as 
the  manufacturer  of  pin's  heads  may  be  said  to  have  a  pin's 
head  education — will  pass  into  limbo.  New  avenues  will  be 
opened  into  the  fields  of  industrial  labor  and  production,  and 
it  goes  without  saying  that  the  soil  will  respond  to  the  tillage 
in  which  the  head  is  guide  of  the  hand.  Doubtless  the  prac- 
tical man  will  not  yield  without  a  struggle.  When  Sir  Robert 
Peel  proposed  to  establish  the  system  of  penny  postage,  a  depu- 
tation of  paper  manufacturers  waited  upon  him  with  a  serious 
remonstrance,  in  which  they  urged  that  they  would  suffer 
incalculable  loss,  inasmuch  as  everybody  would  write  upon 
note-paper  instead  of  letter-sheets.  But,  precisely  as  the 
paper  manufacturer  has  found  that  the  increase  of  corre- 
spondence from  cheap  postage  has  developed  tenfold  his 
former  trade,  so  the  merely  practical  man  will  discover 
that  the  new  education,  which  removes  him  from  the  place 
where  he  is  dangerous  or  helpless  except  in  his  rut,  will  find 
him  other  occupations  in  which  he  can  thrive,  and  will  teach 
his  children  to  tread  the  path,  with  knowledge,  along  which 
he  groped  in  blind  routine.  It  is  most  desirable,  indeed,  to 
have  it  understood  that  a  multitude  of  new  and  truly  practi- 
cal avocations  is  the  natural  outcome  of  the  new  system  and 
methods  of  scientific  education.  As  I  intimated  just  now, 
the  average  citizen  has  not  altogether  overcome  the  notion 
that  a  body  of  learned  men,  engaged  in  daily  and  laborious 
scientific  research,  is  a  sort  of  close  corporation — very  wise, 


224  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

very  able,  very  eminent,  no  doubt,  but  set  apart,  by  its 
nature  and  occupations,  from  the  common  uses  and  purposes 
of  every-day  life,  and  leaving  its  principal  traces  in  the 
reports  of  "  philosophical  transactions."  It  is  hard  to  make 
the  ordinary  thinker  realize  that  the  electric  flame,  which 
lights  the  whole  coast-line  of  a  continent  with  the  radiance 
of  a  new  sun,  fresh  taught  to  walk  the  night,  was  first  kindled 
in  a  laboratory  such  as  lies  but  a  few  paces  from  where  you 
sit.  You  could  ill  persuade  him  to  what  an  extent  the  biol- 
ogist has  unravelled  the  substantial  problems  of  life  in  all 
nature,  and  has  already  instructed  the  physician  to  answer, 
through  their  solution,  the  hourly  domestic  questioning  of 
disease  and  remedy.  He  would  be  astounded  to  know  how 
physics  and  chemistry  walk  unseen  and  close  by  his  side, 
lending  him  their  help  at  every  step  of  his  existence,  and 
at  every  stage  and  variety  of  the  labor  which  supports  and 
the  civilization  which  protects  him.  He  could  not  easily 
comprehend  that  the  abstruse  mathematics,  whose  written 
language  may  be  to  him  an  unknown  tongue,  is  the  great 
vehicle  of  scientific  expression  and  fact  from  world's-eud  to 
world's-end,  almost  bearing,  Atlas-like,  the  globe  of  science  on 
its  shoulders.  He  little  imagines  that  the  philologist  whom  he 
supposes  to  be  engaged  in  word-fancying  and  word-spelling — 
a  process  for  which  he  has,  himself,  supreme  contempt — is 
shedding  by  his  labors  a  new  and  certain  light  upon  the  his- 
tory of  mankind,  is  tracing  the  descent  and  relation  of  races 
and  people,  is  separating  fable  from  truth,  is  putting  tradition 
and  story  under  cross-examination  upon  the  witness-stand, 
and  fixing,  even  for  religious  inquiry  and  Biblical  criticism, 
the  certain  and  firm  foundations  of  faith  and  dissent. 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  225 

I  repeat  that  these  things,  and  others  like  them,  are  only 
half  realized  as  living  and  practical  truths  by  the  average 
citizen  who  has  work  to  do  and  children  to  educate ;  and  that 
the  new  walks  of  applied  science,  to  which  the  teachings  of 
this  university  open  the  way,  are  not  yet  known  and  recog- 
nized as  they  should,  and  as  I  am  sure  they  will  be  among 
us,  when  men  are  considering  the  future  of  those  whom  they 
love  best  and  wish  to  serve  best.  I  should  therefore  feel,  as 
an  humble  member  of  this  community,  that  I  had  done  as 
good  a  day's  work  for  it  as  a  man  could  well  do  for  a  com- 
munity to  which  he  owes  much,  if  I  could  help  to  diffuse 
among  its  people  a  thorough  comprehension  of  what  this  noble 
endowment  holds  out  to  them  with  full  hands. 

As  in  most  American  communities,  it  is  our  habit  to  edu- 
cate too  little.  Naturally,  I  do  not  refer  to  those  of  our 
people  to  whom  necessity  leaves  no  choice  or  discretion,  but 
to  those  who  are  able,  and  according  to  their  lights  are 
willing,  to  educate  their  children.  Their  error  lies  in  their 
false  or  imperfect  notion  of  what  an  education  really  means. 
Instead  of  realizing  that  a  young  man  is  most  likely  to  fall 
into  the  vocation  which  suits  him  best,  and  to  make  the  most 
of  himself  in  it — after  he  has  been  taught  enough  to  enable 
him  to  measure  his  own  gifts,  and  has  had  sufficient  scope 
of  instruction  to  fit  him  for  any  one  of  various  occupations, 
according  to  his  tastes  and  opportunities — they  choose  or  per- 
mit him  to  choose  his  calling  beforehand,  and  endeavor  to 
shape  and  mould  what  he  learns  to  that  and  that  only. 
Instead  of  his  life-pursuit  springing  healthily  and  spontane- 
ously like  an  indigenous  plant,  from  those  elements  of  a 
thoroughly  cultivated  mental  soil  which  feed  it  best,  his 
29 


226  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

education  is  made  a  sort  of  hot-bed,  to  force  the  plant — 
perhaps  against  nature — in  advance  of  its  season,  into  the 
market.  For  the  most  part,  if  a  professional  career  is  to  be 
adopted,  they  select  the  law  or  medicine.  If  warned,  as  they 
well  may  be,  by  the  largely  overcrowded  ranks  of  both,  they 
distrust  the  future  of  the  young  man  in  either,  his  course  is 
shaped,  in  the  main,  for  some  mercantile  pursuit,  or  for  one 
of  the  many  other  occupations  which  are  classed  under  the 
comprehensive  head  of  "  business."  For  these  it  is  not  sup- 
posed that  any  peculiar  or  protracted  preparation  is  essential, 
the  chief  requisite  being  that  the  victim  shall  get  through 
early  and  "  go  ahead."  The  idea  that  he  will  be  the  better 
fitted  for  every  and  any  calling,  and  especially  for  moving 
from  the  rear  to  the  front — from  the  ranks  to  command — 
according  to  the  development  of  his  faculties,  the  training  and 
discipline  of  his  mind,  his  knowledge  of  things  knowable  and 
his  capacity  to  apply  things  applicable — does  not  seem  to  occur 
to  the  great  mass  of  those  to  whom  the  destinies  of  young 
men  are  entrusted.  Least  of  all,  does  it  seem  to  enter  their 
minds  that  there  is  a  score  of  occupations,  professional  in  the 
fullest  and  practical  in  the  most  literal  sense,  outside  of  those 
called  "  learned,"  in  which  a  careful  scientific  education  opens 
the  door  to  the  highest  usefulness  and  success.  I  say  noth- 
ing of  the  value  of  knowledge  in  itself  and  apart  from  the 
returns  it  brings.  I  speak  here  only  of  its  value  in  use, 
of  the  resources  and  capital  which  it  furnishes,  and  which 
neither  the  accidents  of  trade  nor  the  vicissitudes  of  fortune 
can  impair — much  less  destroy. 

What  has  been  said  has  been  mainly  in  the  interest  of  the 
student ;  but  it  is  impossible  to  separate  his  interest,  in  these 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  227 

regards,  from  that  of  the  community,  or  to  overestimate  the 
merely  economical  gain,  to  the  whole  country,  of  an  infusion 
of  scientific  and  educated  labor  and  direction  into  all  its  indus- 
tries and  enterprise.  It  is  painful  to  the  last  degree,  in  sea- 
sons of  commercial  disaster  or  depression,  to  see  how  absolutely 
without  resource  so  large  a  number  of  our  young  men  are, 
finding  themselves  deprived  of  their  ordinary  occupation, 
without  knowledge  enough  of  anything  outside  to  enable 
them  to  turn  in  other  directions  for  bread.  They  have 
pursuits,  but  really  no  calling.  Nor  is  this  true  only  of 
those  who  depend  upon  the  vicissitudes  of  trade  or  specula- 
tion ;  for  nothing  is  more  certain  in  every  industrial  crisis 
than  that  the  uneducated  workman  is  the  first  to  feel  the 
loss  of  place  or  the  pressure  of  reduced  compensation.  To 
those  who  may  desire  to  make  politics  their  profession — and 
even  to  the  much  larger  number  who  merely  seek  political 
preferment — it  is  impossible  to  overestimate  the  value  of  those 
attainments,  which  enable  a  man  to  deal,  in  a  capable  and 
educated  way,  with  the  multifarious  and  complicated  ques- 
tions of  scientific  theory  and  fact,  that  spring  up  at  every 
instant  in  the  government  of  a  mighty  people  like  ours. 
Politics  themselves  are,  of  course,  a  science,  and  in  the  true 
sense  one  of  the  noblest  of  sciences.  Practically,  however, 
among  us,  they  are  rather  what  is  called,  in  our  old-fashioned 
law-English,  an  "  art  or  mystery  ; "  and  they  are  learned  and 
practiced,  as  such,  though  not  publicly  taught,  that  I  am 
aware.  The  Marquis  de  Costa  Beauregard,  writing  to  Joseph 
de  Maistre  in  1789,  d,  propos  of  the  impending  revolution  in 
France,  made  an  observation  which  has  always  struck  me  as 
very  clever,  in  the  best  style  of  French  cleverness.  "  Dog- 


228  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

matic  opinion,"  he  said,  "  should  not  touch  on  politics,  for 
on  that  head  there  is  no  revelation."  I  am  afraid,  from  some 
personal  experience,  that  the  absence  of  revelation  has  not 
always  prevented  people  from  dogmatizing,  somewhat  actively, 
upon  some  political  questions  in  this  country ;  but  I  still  am 
Utopian  enough  to  believe  that  the  time  is  not  far  off,  when 
a  chair  of  political  science  will  be  filled  in  every  university, 
and  men  will  be  taught,  in  good  faith,  at  all  events,  the  radi- 
cal distinction  between  politics  and  party,  and  between  party 
and  plunder.  I  am  not  very  sanguine,  however,  I  confess, 
as  to  the  controlling  effect  of  what  men  study  at  the  univer- 
sity, in  matters  of  government,  upon  their  practical  political 
courses ;  and  I  remember  that  I  could  not  avoid  some  mental 
questionings  upon  that  point,  when  listening  with  great  inter- 
est, a  few  years  ago,  to  a  very  able  discourse,  in  which  it  was 
discussed,  on  one  of  the  anniversaries  of  this  university,  by 
a  distinguished  gentleman  of  great  authority,  who  is  present 
here  to-day.  [President  White,  of  Cornell  University.] 
When  entirely  convinced,  upon  satisfactory  and  indifferent 
evidence,  that  a  single  representative  in  Congress,  from  a 
district  which  favors  protection,  has  voted  openly  against  a 
protective  tariff,  because  he  was  taught  free  trade  at  college, 
I  shall  be  willing  to  qualify  my  modest  scepticism.  Mean- 
time, let  us  believe,  at  all  events,  with  the  great  English 
teacher  whom  I  have  quoted  above,  that  the  time  will  come, 
"  when  there  shall  be  no  member  of  the  legislature,  who  will 
not  know  as  much  of  science  as  an  elementary  school  boy." 

These  suggestions  are  presented  in  a  loose  and  informal 
manner,  for  they  belong  too  much  to  the  commonplaces  of 
the  occasion  to  be  offered  in  a  more  ambitious  way.  Indeed, 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  229 

it  is  because  they  are  commonplaces,  and  yet  are  not  under- 
stood and  appreciated  as  they  should  be,  that  I  have  made 
them,  from  choice,  the  burden  of  what  I  have  to  say.  If  I 
could  reach  the  car  of  every  man  in  this  community,  who  has 
children  whom  he  can  afford  to  educate,  I  could  not  befriend 
him  more,  than  by  impressing  him  with  a  sense  of  the  waste 
and  folly  of  seeking  for  them,  elsewhere,  the  instruction  which 
is  so  prodigally  at  their  service  here.  It  is  true  that  this  is  a 
university,  and  that  it  stands  already,  through  its  work  and 
workers,  in  the  front  rank  of  universities.  It  is  true  that  its 
great  destiny,  in  the  world  of  knowledge,  is  to  be  wrought 
out  in  its  character  of  university.  But  it  is  a  college  as  well. 
Its  collegiate  department  is  ample,  its  instruction  thorough, 
its  methods  of  the  best.  The  teacher,  instead  of  being, 
merely,  as  is  so  often  the  case — and  as  in  the  olden  days  he 
almost  invariably  was — a  sort  of  circulating  medium  between 
the  text-book  and  the  undergraduate  comprehension — is  the 
companion  and  co-worker  of  his  pupils.  Surrounded  in  the 
study  and  the  class-room,  the  laboratory  and  the  lecture-room, 
with  all  the  books  and  appliances  which  belong  to  the  par- 
ticular department ;  segregated,  for  the  time,  from  all  but 
the  particular  work  and  his  companions  in  it ;  stimulated 
by  competition,  co-operation  and  encouragement ;  kept  up  to 
the  mark  by  rigid,  and  yet  wise  and  fair  examinations ;  with 
nothing  lacking  to  his  development  that  educational  science 
can  supply,  through  the  liberal  application  of  a  large  and 
beneficent  endowment — if  the  undergraduate  student  of  this 
university  cannot  make  a  man  of  himself  here,  it  will  be  in 
vain  for  him  to  go  elsewhere  for  his  making.  It  is  easy,  and 
often  useful,  to  criticise  the  distribution  of  studies  in  every 


230  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

institution ;  and  I  believe  there  is  no  institution  in  which  it 
is  not  habitually  done,  fairly  or  unfairly,  as  the  case  may  be. 
But  "  dogmatic  opinion "  is  as  much  out  of  place  in  such 
matters  as  in  politics.  It  would  be  strange,  indeed,  if  a  new 
institution  like  this — scarce  seven  years  old — were  already  so 
perfect  in  its  entire  organization  as  to  be  beyond  criticism  or 
improvement.  It  invites  fair  criticism — it  hesitates  at  no 
change  which  brings  improvement.  For  my  own  part,  I 
cannot  too  heartily  applaud  the  skill  with  which  its  under- 
graduate courses  are  distributed  and  the  theory  of  their  dis- 
tribution— recognizing  the  eclectic  principle,  upon  the  one 
hand,  by  conceding  the  choice  of  studies,  and  yet  preventing 
its  abuse,  by  grouping  the  studies  for  selection.  And  then, 
above  all,  stands  the  university  itself,  beckoning  the  under- 
graduate on  to  its  opportunities,  advantages  and  honors. 
There  he  sees  about  him  men  of  culture  and  enthusiasm, 
the  graduates  of  other  institutions,  who  have  come  to  drink 
at  the  fountains  which  will  flow  for  him  also.  All  around 
him  is  labor,  opportunity,  life,  progress  and  achievement. 
There  is  no  such  thing  as  standing  still.  The  year-books 
of  scientific  research  and  discovery  are  filled  with  the  results 
of  what  is  going  on  around  him.  The  men  who  lead  and 
direct  it,  and  they  who  come  from  a  distance  to  help  it  on, 
are,  many  of  them,  world-famous — most  of  them  becoming 
and  worthy  to  become  so.  It  seems  to  me  that  in  all  this 
there  is  everything  to  kindle  the  ambition  and  pride  of  the 
student,  awaken  his  enthusiasm,  and  develop  his  powers.  I 
can  well  understand  that  young  gentlemen  may  sometimes 
prefer  to  have  their  powers  develop,  in  their  own  way,  at  a 
distance  from  home  and  its  restraints ;  and  that  what  is  called 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  231 

"  college  life  "  has  attractions  for  some,  which  may  outshine 
the  allurements  and  opportunities  of  scholarship.  But  I  can- 
not understand  how  it  is  that  parents  can  take  that  view  of 
the  subject,  or  can  believe  that  the  shelter  of  the  parental 
roof  and  the  present  watchfulness  of  parental  solicitude  and 
affection  can  diminish  the  value  of  the  education  which  comes 
to  their  doors.  Indeed,  in  the  very  many  cases  in  which  the 
question  of  education  is,  more  or  less,  a  question  of  cost  to 
the  parent,  and  he  is  forced  or  chooses  to  deal  with  it  upon 
"  commercial  principles,"  it  seems  to  me  that  he  overlooks 
the  first  rule  of  "business,"  when  he  sends  abroad  for  what 
he  can  procure,  at  least  as  good,  on  better  terms,  at  home. 

But,  quite  apart  from  these  considerations,  and  worthy  to 
be  taken  into  account  with  the  best  of  them,  are  the  relation 
which  this  university  bears,  and  is  destined  to  bear,  to  our 
city  and  the  State  of  Maryland,  and  the  obligations  which  are 
incident  to  that  relation.  A  man  of  large  fortune,  under  the 
impulse  of  large  and  benevolent  ideas,  thought  proper,  at  his 
death,  to  dedicate  an  ample  portion  of  that  fortune  to  the 
endowment  of  a  great  university  among  us  bearing  his  name. 
It  was  the  deliberate  purpose  of  his  life,  and  he  selected,  with 
deliberation  and  wise  foresight,  the  agents  and  agencies  for 
its  consummation.  To  the  best  of  their  ability  these  trusted 
agents  have  done  the  work  assigned  to  them,  and  no  differ- 
ences of  opinion,  upon  other  questions,  can  justify  a  doubt 
that  they  have  done  it,  thus  far,  well.  That  this  university, 
in  its  infancy,  is  already  a  noble  monument  to  its  Founder 
is,  I  repeat,  a  fact  indisputable  to  all  who  are  even  super- 
ficially familiar  with  the  records  of  scientific  and  educational 
opinion,  at  home  and  abroad.  What  it  is,  in  itself  and  as  a 


232  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

monument,  it  is  to  us  and  ours  as  it  is  to  him.  It  should  be 
our  pride,  as  it  is  his  glory.  Day  by  day  it  is  growing  in 
every  element  of  usefulness,  and  in  every  force  that  can  work 
for  good.  All  the  seeds  of  development  are  germinating  and 
quick  within  it.  It  is  not  here  for  to-day  or  to-morrow,  for 
this  year  or  the  next,  but  for  all  time — a  possession  forever, 
so  far  as  human  things  may  be.  Its  Founder  has  done  his 
part.  His  trusted  agents  have  done  theirs.  It  is  for  the 
people  at  whose  feet  the  offering  is  laid  to  do  their  part  like- 
wise. Theirs  must  be  a  living  and  active  part,  too,  or  it  will 
be  vain  and  fruitless.  Neither  sympathy,  nor  sentiment,  nor 
admiration,  nor  praise,  will  suffice.  You  had  as  wrell  think 
of  speeding  a  ship  upon  her  voyage  by  wishing  that  the  winds 
may  blow — after  the  manner  of  the  third  ode  of  Horace. 
What  the  university  needs,  to  make  the  most  of  itself — what 
the  community  needs,  to  make  to  itself  anything  of  the  uni- 
versity— is  downright,  actual,  daily  co-operation  on  the  part 
of  our  people.  They  must  realize  to  themselves  what  such  an 
institution  is  worth,  and  can  be  made  worth,  to  them  and 
their  posterity.  They  must  think  of  it  growing  with  their 
growth,  exploring  and  developing  their  physical  resources, 
enlarging  their  minds,  expanding  and  refining  their  culture 
and  their  tastes,  bringing  home  to  them  and  naturalizing  every 
new  discovery  and  application  of  science  elsewhere,  and,  domi- 
ciliating,  as  it  were,  among  them,  every  fresh  discovery  and 
application  of  its  own.  They  must  appreciate  its  value,  intel- 
lectually and  socially,  as  a  centre  of  thought — the  resort  of 
students  and  men  of  learning  from  a  distance — all  seeking  its 
advantages  and  all  bringing  something  in  exchange  for  what 
they  seek.  Even  to-day,  there  is  hardly  a  field  of  current 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  233 

thought  into  which  it  has  not  already  invited  us  to  enter, 
under  the  guidance  of  men  who  are,  themselves,  among  the 
leaders  of  thought  in  the  world.  And  what  are  we  to  do 
with  all  this  benefaction  ?  Are  we  to  stand  and  look  at  the 
university,  afar  off  and  far  below,  as  men  stand  in  a  valley 
or  a  gorge  and  gaze  at  a  castle  on  a  hill  ?  You  will  remem- 
ber a  score  of  Dore's  pictures,  which  will  tell  you  what  I 
mean — the  vivid  light,  above,  on  tower  and  keep,  the  dark- 
ness tangible  beneath.  Not  so,  I  trust.  I  can  imagine  the 
stir,  some  morning,  if  the  rumor  were  to  run  and  to  be  true, 
that  some  galleon  of  the  olden  times — such  as  the  English 
buccaneers  (known  historically,  by  the  by,  as  the  "great 
navigators")  were  in  the  habit  of  plundering  on  their  way 
from  Mexico  to  Spain — were  anchored  in  our  harbor,  with 
her  cargo  of  ingots  of  silver  generously  placed  at  the  service 
of  our  citizens.  I  think  one  might  venture  to  say  that  the 
significance  of  such  a  phenomenon  would  be  promptly  and 
generally  comprehended  in  all  its  practical  aspects — that  the 
officers  and  even  the  crew  of  that  welcome  vessel  would  be 
borne  in  triumph  to  Druid  Hill  Park  and  Bayview,  and  all 
places  of  municipal  attraction  and  delight,  upon  the  footing 
of  the  most  favored  visitors,  in  the  most  gorgeous  convey- 
ances which  could  be  provided  by  a  liberal  committee  of  our 
hospitable  City  Council.  In  regard  to  taking  advantage  of 
the  godsend,  I  think  probably  the  only  question  would  be 
as  to  who  should  get  the  most  of  it.  The  cases  of  indiffer- 
ence or  self-denial  would  hardly  be  numerous  enough  to  be 
embarrassing.  Yet  many  a  galleon  went  to  sea,  in  those  old 
days,  with  less  of  actual  counted  treasure  in  her  hold,  than 
here,  in  money  value,  we  have  taken  under  the  endowment 
30 


234  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

of  Johns  Hopkins.  Instead  of  tossing  it  into  the  air,  in  the 
shape  of  riches  which  make  themselves  wings  and  fly,  he  has 
planted  it  deep  in  our  soil,  so  that  it  shall  take  root  and  grow. 
And  can  any  one  venture  to  compare  the  worth  of  his  bene- 
faction, if  he  had  scattered  it  in  present,  actual  largess  to 
our  people — so  that  some  of  it  should  go  into  every  man's 
purse — with  its  value,  as  he  chose  to  make  it,  to  us  and  our 
posterity  ?  Think  of  the  actual,  material  money  value — the 
material,  tangible,  yearly  product — to  a  community,  of  suc- 
cessive and  growing  generations  of  educated  men,  carrying 
with  them  into  every  profession  and  every  department  of 
busy  and  social  life,  the  knowledge  which  fertilizes  every 
field,  and  fructifies  every  industry,  and  makes  right  hands 
of  all  the  hands  of  enterprise.  Counted  by  dollars  and 
cents — tested  by  no  book  but  the  ledger — the  actual  wealth 
exceeds,  a  thousand-fold,  to  say  the  least  of  it,  what  would 
have  come  to  us,  if  the  money  had  been  piled  in  one  of  our 
squares  and  been  distributed  to  all  comers,  per  capita,  by  the 
police.  I  put  it  in  this  purely  economical  and  homely  way, 
not  to  belittle  the  subject,  nor  by  way  of  insinuating  that 
our  people  are  incapable  of  comprehending  it  in  its  proper 
statement  and  its  loftier  and  nobler  aspects.  I  only  desire 
to  illustrate  what  I  mean,  by  showing,  that  if  they  were 
thoroughly  and  fully  to  realize  the  value  of  this  foundation 
in  all  points  of  view,  as  they  do  realize,  at  sight,  the  value  of 
present  gold,  or  of  the  venture  or  the  speculation  to  which 
they  see,  or  think  they  see,  a  golden  lining,  there  would  be 
no  need  of  urging  their  co-operation  to  knit  this  university 
with  their  proudest  hopes  and  most  active  struggles  for  the 
prosperous  future  of  their  city  and  their  State. 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  235 

A  candid  man  must  recognize,  of  course,  that  such  co-opera- 
tion, in  a  full  and  deep  sense  of  its  necessity  and  of  the  good 
that  must  come  from  it,  cannot  spring  up,  all  at  once,  in  a 
community  whose  citizens,  for  generations,  have  been  accus- 
tomed to  dispense  too  much  with  higher  education  and  to 
look  for  what  they  have  had  of  it  to  institutions  at  a 
distance.  Habit  and  fashion  are  powerful  and  slow  to 
change,  in  this  as  in  things  of  lesser  moment.  A  commer- 
cial city,  which  has  been  built  up  entirely  by  trade  and  its 
enterprises,  cannot  take  in,  upon  short  notice,  all  that  is 
meant  by  its  becoming,  for  the  future,  a  university  town, 
as  well.  As  the  feudal  town  grew  up  around  the  castle 
that  protected  it,  and  the  university  town  of  old  around  its 
university,  so  the  town  of  commerce  has  its  own  special 
centres,  and  with  difficulty  shapes  itself  around  any  others. 
I  know  that  I  am  treading,  with  unaccustomed  feet,  a  path 
which  is  especially  familiar  to  the  students  of  institutional  his- 
tory around  me ;  and,  having  been  misled,  in  early  life — by 
what  I  took  to  be  the  high  historical  authority  of  Diedrich 
Knickerbocker — into  the  faith  (pace  Dr.  Adams  and  Dr. 
Freeman)  that  an  American  town,  in  its  origin,  is  "the 
accidental  assemblage  of  a  church,  a  tavern  and  a  black- 
smith's shop,"  it  is  possible  that  I  may  carry  my  idea  of 
the  original  nucleus  and  its  influence  perhaps  too  far.  But 
Baltimore,  I  am  persuaded,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  has  grown, 
rather  than  been  added  to  or  altered ;  and,  in  the  main,  is 
the  same  Baltimore  as  always,  only  richer,  stronger,  older, 
more  mature.  Its  social  traits  and  habits,  the  tone  and 
temper,  the  manners  and  manhood  of  its  people  are,  for 
the  most  part  and  happily,  but  little  changed.  It  has  the 


236  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY, 

right  to  be  proud  of  them,  and,  speaking  for  myself  as  for 
the  rest,  I  confess  that  it  is  quite  as  proud  of  them  as  it 
has  the  right  to  be.  It  is  full  of  enterprise,  in  its  way, 
and  yet  it  clings,  with  unaltered  devotion,  to  many  of  the 
traditional  clogs  to  enterprise.  It  is  fond  of  being  what  is 
called  "  conservative  " — often  forgetting  Carlyle's  maxim  that 
the  value  of  conservatism  depends  upon  the  value  of  the 
things  conserved.  It  aspires  to  be  a  metropolis,  and  it  ought 
to  be  and  will  be,  though  it  is  not  yet ;  but  it  will  become, 
rather  than  make  itself  such.  Thus  far,  it  has  not  entirely 
outgrown  the  retail  idea,  that  the  judicious  advertising  of  a 
thing,  as  a  fact,  will  save  the  necessity  of  its  being  or  becom- 
ing one.  Can  I  say  anything  stronger  as  to  our  neglect  of 
home  opportunities,  than  that  we  have  been  practising  vivi- 
section upon  the  oyster,  for  an  hundred  and  fifty  years, 
without  knowing,  until  told  by  Dr.  Brooks,  of  the  domestic 
affections  of  that  cherished  mollusk,  or  the  conditions  upon 
which  alone  its  days  may  be  long  in  the  water.  We  may 
look  at  any  time,  I  fear,  for  some  equally  humiliating  dis- 
closure of  our  want  of  physiological  acquaintance  with  the 
diamond-back  terrapin ;  although  a  mummy  of  that  sacred 
reptile  will  be  found,  I  am  sure,  in  the  sarcophagus  of  the 
prehistoric  Marylander,  should  such  ever  be  discovered. 

But  pardon  this  trifling,  for  one  must  not  dwell  too  seri- 
ously upon  the  shortcomings  of  a  community  which  he 
cherishes  and  whose  faults  he  shares,  although  he  cannot, 
as  a  man,  be  silent,  in  regard  to  them,  when  it  is  proper  he 
should  speak.  Nor  is  it  a  safe  thing  always  to  be  too  plain- 
spoken  on  such  matters.  Of  this,  a  conspicuous  proof  recurs 
to  my  memory.  The  late  Mr.  John  P.  Kennedy,  well  known 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  237 

in  the  literature  of  American  fiction,  and  one  of  the  most  grace- 
ful and  accomplished  writers  and  gentlemen  of  his  day,  was 
rash  enough  to  say,  upon  some  public  occasion,  in  his  early 
manhood,  that  this  community  of  ours  was  "  not  a  reading 
community."  Unhappily,  at  that  time,  what  he  said  was 
true,  which  was  so  much  the  worse  for  it  and  for  him.  It 
so  happened,  in  the  course  of  things,  that  he  afterwards 
aspired  to  public  life,  for  which  his  talents  and  acquire- 
ments eminently  fitted  him.  He  was  successful,  more  than 
once,  in  his  ambition,  but  always  under  difficulties ;  and  I 
do  not  remember  a  single  canvass  in  which  his  name  was 
presented,  where  that  unhappy  speech  of  his  did  not  cling 
to  him  like  the  albatross  to  the  Ancient  Mariner.  More 
than  once  I  have  myself  heard  it  called  up  in  judgment 
against  him  on  the  hustings ;  and  I  can  testify  to  the  lively 
indignation  with  which  it  was  received,  especially  by  that  por- 
tion of  the  lieges  who  might  most  readily  have  been  excused 
from  reading,  for  the  reason  that  they  did  not  know  how. 

But — badinage  aside — this  community  has  reached  a  stage 
of  its  progress,  when  it  could  no  longer  have  any  excuse,  if 
it  sought  one,  for  being  narrow-minded  or  provincial,  or 
reckless  of  its  opportunities.  If  it  has  not  yet  fully  availed 
itself  of  these,  so  far  as  concerns  the  university,  it  is  because 
they  have  not  been  long  enough  afforded  to  be  familiar  or 
thoroughly  comprehended  ;  because  the  old  paths  have  not 
been  long  enough  opened  and  extended  in  the  direction  of 
the  new  ways.  But  the  future  relations  of  the  State  and  the 
university  are  covered  by  a  simple  and  single  statement.  The 
university  is  here,  and  here  it  will  remain.  If  the  people 
whose  homes  are  around  it  should  not  appreciate  or  covet 


238  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY, 

the  gifts  which  it  offers  them,  the  people  who  do  appreciate 
and  do  covet  them  will  still  come  from  other  homes  and 
seek  them.  There  is  no  fear  that  the  numbers  of  these  will 
decrease,  or  that  a  noble  foundation  like  this  will  cry  aloud 
in  the  wilderness  and  no  man  hearken  to  it.  For  the  mere 
diffusion  of  knowledge  among  mankind — if  that  were  all — it 
will  matter  little  from  what  distance  or  from  what  quarter 
of  the  world  the  lamps  are  brought  here  to  be  filled  and 
lighted.  But,  to  us,  it  matters  much  whether  or  not  we 
shall  play  the  part  of  the  foolish  virgins.  It  was  not  merely 
for  the  general  diffusion  of  knowledge  that  the  university  was 
endowed.  Next  the  heart  of  its  Founder  was  the  prime  and 
cherished  desire,  that  the  people  among  whom  his  wealth  had 
been  gathered,  his  friendships  formed  and  the  best  years  of 
his  life  usefully  spent,  should  drink,  first  and  chiefly,  of  the 
cup  which  he  filled  for  posterity.  It  was  not  in  his  mind 
that  they  would  turn  from  it  or  dash  it  from  their  lips. 
Nor,  in  what  I  have  taken  occasion  here  to  say,  nor  from 
the  earnestness  with  which  it  has  been  said,  am  I  to  be 
understood  as  anticipating  or  deeming  it  necessary  to  depre- 
cate so  pessimistic  a  result.  Slowly,  but  with  regular  and 
certain  progress,  the  interest  of  our  people  in  this  institution 
has  been  developing  itself  year  after  year.  The  increasing 
list  of  its  undergraduate  students  discloses  the  significant  and 
hopeful  fact,  that  they  are  the  sons  of  parents  in  all  callings 
and  all  classes  of  life,  and,  in  a  large  degree,  of  those  who  are 
most  capable  of  passing  an  intelligent  and,  indeed,  authorita- 
tive judgment  upon  the  merit  of  educational  systems  and 
methods.  That  the  influence  of  such  approval  and  sympa- 
thy will  diffuse  itself,  widely  and  certainly,  in  the  course 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  239 

of  time,  it  would  be  unreasonable  to  doubt.  What  I  would 
impress  upon  our  citizens — if  my  voice  were  worthy  to  be 
heard — is  their  waste  of  present  time  and  opportunity  in 
\vaiting ;  the  loss,  to  the  institution  itself,  of  that  imme- 
diate and  happy  impulse  which  would  quicken  it,  if  its 
halls  were  thronged  with  the  ambitious  youth  and  promise 
of  Maryland,  and  the  sympathy  of  her  people  were  concen- 
trated there,  upon  the  labors  and  struggles  and  aspirations 
of  their  children.  This  is  what  I  mean  by  the  sympathy 
which  I  would  venture  to  bespeak — the  only  sympathy  which 
is  practical  and  worth  having.  The  longer  it  is  delayed,  the 
longer  the  usefulness  of  the  institution  will  lack  development 
for  local  good — the  longer,  of  course,  the  postponement  of 
that  good,  for  those  who  will  sit  upon  the  banks  and  see 
the  stream  go  by. 

In  what  has  been  said  it  has,  of  course,  been  understood 
that  I  have  spoken  as  a  citizen  only,  and  in  the  interest  of 
the  community  to  which  I  belong.  For  the  university, 
except  in  so  far  as  it  and  the  community  are  one  in  interest 
and  in  respect  and  duty  to  the  Founder,  I  have  no  claim  and 
could  not  presume  to  speak.  But,  having  always  taken  the 
deepest  interest  in  questions  of  public  education,  and  having 
keenly  felt,  as  well  as  constantly  observed,  in  a  long  profes- 
sional life,  the  need  of  more  precise  and  accurate  and  full 
instruction,  and  especially  scientific  instruction,  even  among 
those  whose  educational  opportunities  have  been  best,  I  con- 
fess to  a  more  than  common  solicitude  for  the  speedy  identi- 
fication of  this  university  with  the  intellectual  development 
and  progress  of  our  people.  Without  undervaluing,  for 
example,  the  facility  with  which  an  alert  and  well-trained 


240  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

intellect,  in  my  profession,  may  for  the  moment  appropriate 
to  itself  enough  of  special  scientific  knowledge  for  the  occa- 
sional needs  of  the  trial-table  and  the  examination  of  experts, 
and  may  use  that  knowledge  with  efficiency  and  force,  I  can- 
not but  recognize  it  as  akin  to  the  painful  cramming  by  which 
young  gentlemen  sometimes  substitute  their  memory  for  their 
intelligence,  when  examinations  are  hovering  in  the  air.  And 
it  is  a  dreary  thing,  at  the  best,  for  a  man  to  be  prosecuting 
scientific  inquiry  in  public,  under  the  primary  and  difficult 
condition  of  not  going  beyond  his  own  depth.  I  fancy  that 
the  embarrassment  must  be  equally  serious  to  the  medical 
man  and  the  Biblical  student  and  teacher,  when,  to  use  a 
railway  phrase,  they  are  compelled  to  take  in  scientific  fuel 
at  all  the  way-stations.  Perhaps,  though  I  hardly  venture 
to  suggest  it,  they  may  share  a  certain  relief,  in  the  presence 
of  their  patients  and  hearers,  which  we  have,  in  our  way,  at 
the  bar.  I  mean  the  confidence  that  if  counsel  happen  to 
know  little  of  science,  the  jury  probably  know  less.  And 
here  it  is  worth  while  to  say — what  I  know  to  be  true,  from 
considerable  opportunity  of  knowing — that  the  public  would 
be  startled,  if  they  could  realize  the  extent  and  depth  of  the 
ignorance  of  ordinary  rudimental  scientific  principle  and  fact, 
upon  the  part  of  the  great  mass  of  those  who  are  entrusted 
with  the  daily  practical  application  of  the  mightiest  and  most 
dangerous  mechanical  forces.  I  remember  well  the  testimony 
of  an  engineman,  who  was  produced  as  an  expert  in  a  case 
arising  out  of  a  disastrous  boiler  explosion,  and  who  affirmed 
his  superior  right  to  testify,  by  deposing,  with  some  defiance, 
that  he  did  not  think  any  one  knew  anything  about  such 
matters,  "  except  a  man  who  had  been  brought  up  in  a  boiler- 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  241 

room."  He  ascribed  the  particular  explosion  to  "the  gases 
in  the  boiler,"  and  when  asked  what  gases  he  meant,  he 
replied,  with  an  air  of  triumph,  "  How  can  I  tell  ?  I  was 
not  inside  the  boiler."  From  that  day's  experience  to  the 
present,  I  have  never  ceased  to  regard,  as  one  of  the  greatest 
needs  of  our  State  and  city  and  one  of  the  richest  boons  that 
could  be  vouchsafed  to  them,  the  establishment  of  technical 
schools,  with  all  the  shops,  appliances  and  apparatus  for 
thorough,  scientific,  mechanical  instruction.  Nor  will  I 
abandon  the  hope  that  some  man  or  men,  of  large  wealth 
and  largeness  of  view,  like  Stevens  of  Hoboken,  will  before 
long  earn  the  lasting  gratitude  of  this  community,  and,  espe- 
cially, of  its  men  of  toil,  by  affiliating  some  such  institution 
with  the  Hopkins  foundation. 

And  this  leads  me  to  one  other  cognate  topic,  which  I 
should  not  impose  upon  your  patience,  but  for  its  important 
bearing  upon  some  of  the  considerations  which  have  already 
been  presented.  All  that  is  in  it  is  obvious  enough,  to  any 
one  who  reflects ;  and  it  is  worth  touching,  only  because  the 
most  intelligent  people,  when  otherwise  preoccupied,  do  not 
always  stop  for  reflection.  I  refer  to  the  truth — so  per- 
petually illustrated  by  experience — that  to  the  attainment 
of  knowledge,  and  especially  of  scientific  knowledge,  it  is 
almost  as  essential  that  it  should  be  pursued  under  proper 
guidance  as  that  it  should  be  pursued  at  all.  To  the  gener- 
ality of  this  observation  there  are,  of  course,  exceptions,  and 
none  so  conspicuous  as  the  few  in  which  real  genius  is  its  own 
inspiration.  But  the  self-made  man,  for  the  most  part,  is  a 
very  imperfect  manufacture,  and  his  leading  characteristic  is 
apt  to  be — as  was  cruelly  but  most  cleverly  said  of  the  late 
31 


242  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

Mr.  Horace  Greeley,  when  he  boasted  of  his  self-making — 
that  "  he  worships  his  creator."  Of  course,  if  he  has  merit 
and  has  had  no  choice  but  to  make  himself,  it  is  impossible 
not  to  commend  his  efforts;  and  it  is  but  just  to  make  allow- 
ances for  his  mistakes,  while  we  regret  the  cause  and  provide 
against  its  recurrence.  Voltaire  has  said,  in  his  rather  com- 
pendious way,  that  "  the  beginning  of  wisdom  is  to  know  how 
to  doubt."  It  might  be  said,  I  think,  with  less  question,  that 
the  beginning  of  knowledge  is  to  know  how  to  begin.  It  is 
very  confusing  to  the  mind  to  start  from  the  wrong  end  ; 
and  walking  backwards  is  as  helpless  a  process  intellectually 
as  physically.  You  will  permit  an  illustration  which  I  flatter 
myself  that  your  philological  classes  at  least  will  appreciate, 
even  if  you  deem  it  a  little  remote.  At  a  meeting  of  the 
British  Association,  in  October,  1862,  the  contemporary 
report  of  proceedings  in  the  London  Athenaeum  will  show 
that  the  Rev.  Dr.  Mill  read  a  very  long  and  learned  paper 
concerning  the  "decipherment  of  the  Phoenician  inscription 
on  the  Newton  stone,  Aberdeenshire."  Having  decided  that 
the  letters  were  Phoenician,  the  reverend  gentleman  read  the 
inscription  backwards,  from  the  right,  explaining  it  by  corre- 
sponding letters  of  the  Hebrew  alphabet.  He  thus  made  it 
out  to  be  a  votive  monument,  dedicated  to  Eshmiu,  God  of 
Health  (the  Tyrian  Esculapius),  in  gratitude  for  favors 
received  during  "  the  wandering  exile  of  me  thy  servant " 
— the  dedicator  being  "  Han  Thanit  Zenaniah,  magistrate, 
who  is  saturated  with  sorrow."  On  its  face,  the  mode  of 
decipherment  had  some  signs  of  weakness  to  even  a  super- 
ficial critic;  and  the  conclusion  of  the  inscription  was  rather 
illogical,  at  least  according  to  modern  experience,  in  which  a 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY.  243 

saturation  of  sorrow  does  not  usually  crystallize,  for  a  sick 
man,  into  a  monument  of  gratitude  to  his  physician.  Dr. 
Mill,  however,  discussed  the  sufferings  of  Han  Thanit  at 
some  length,  speculating  upon  their  cause  (which,  I  have 
no  doubt,  was  "  malaria ")  and  suggesting  that  he  appeared 
to  have  been  a  man  of  consular  authority,  who  had  com- 
manded a  fleet  or  ship,  which  had  come  to  Britain  ;  and  that 
this  and  other  circumstances  pointed  to  the  earlier  period  of 
the  history  of  Tyre. 

Dr.  Mill  was  followed  by  a  certain  Mr.  Wright — obvi- 
ously an  iconoclast  of  fiendish  malignity — who  said,  in  a 
quiet  way,  that  the  stone  belonged  to  a  familiar  class  of 
monuments.  The  inscription  was  written,  he  said,  not  in 
Phreniciau,  but  in  rudely-formed  Roman  characters,  and 
belonged  to  a  period  subsequent  to  the  withdrawal  of  the 
Romans  from  Britain.  It  was  not  easy  to  decipher  it,  he 
said,  without  some  study,  and  the  drawing  presented  was 
imperfect,  but  he  thought  he  could  sufficiently  explain  what 
it  was,  and  he  read  it  thus,  beginning  at  the  left  :  "  Hie  jacit 
(jaceC)  Constantinus  filins  *  *  *  *"  followed  by  other  letters 
easy  to  make  out  on  careful  examination.  It  was  simply  the 
burial  stone,  he  added,  of  some  chieftain  called  Coustantine, 
and  bore  his  name  and  that  of  his  father.  It  was  to  be 
lamented,  said  Mr.  Wright,  that  Dr.  Mill  had  thrown  away 
so  much  learning  so  mistakenly. 

I  have  ventured  to  give  this  remarkable  statement  in  almost 
literal  detail,  because,  apart  from  its  point  as  an  illustration, 
it  seems  to  me  almost  as  humorous  in  its  way,  and  as  delight- 
fully circumstantial  in  its  humor,  as  if  Swift  himself  had 
invented  it.  In  my  limited  reading,  I  do  not  remember  to 


244  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

have  met  a  thoroughly  authentic  report  of  any  like  occurrence 
in  a  learned  society.  Doubtless,  many  a  Han  Thanit  may 
have  been  accredited  to  Tyre,  and  never  found  out  to  be  a 
Roman  ;  but,  if  the  incident  which  I  have  described  is  at  all 
characteristic  of  the  proceedings  of  the  British  Association, 
there  may  well  be  said  of  it,  what  Lord  John  Townshend 
said  of  the  House  of  Commons,  when  the  celebrated  gram- 
marian, James  Harris,  the  author  of  "  Hermes,"  was  taking 
the  oaths  of  office.  You  will  doubtless  recall  the  story. 
"  Who  might  that  be  ?  "  said  Lord  John.  Some  one  replied 
that  it  was  Mr.  Harris,  "  who  had  written  on  grammar  and 
harmony."  "  Then,  why  the  deuce,"  cried  Lord  John,  "  does 
he  come  to  this  place,  where  he  will  hear  so  little  of  either  ?  " 
From  this  illustration  of  what  learning  comes  to,  when  it 
begins  at  the  wrong  end,  we  may  well  point  the  moral  of 
what  ignorance  or  half  learning  will  end  in,  if  it  undertakes 
to  be  its  own  guide  in  research.  The  desire  to  know  being 
the  parent  of  all  knowledge,  men  constantly  persuade  them- 
selves that  such  desire  and  the  willingness  to  work  are  all 
that  is  necessary  for  the  attainment  of  their  object.  How 
many  industrious  and  worthy  lives  are  comparatively  wasted 
under  that  mistake — in  squaring  the  circle,  or  such  like — it 
is  difficult  to  estimate.  Undoubtedly,  the  man  who  looks  at 
the  sun  through  a  smoked  glass,  may  have  as  ardent  a  desire 
to  understand  the  phenomenon  which  his  rude  instrument 
discloses,  as  the  astronomer  who  sails  his  thousands  of  miles, 
to  plant  his  telescope  on  some  wild  mountain,  or  some  lone 
island  in  mid-ocean.  But  not  all  the  enthusiasm  which  ever 
lifted  a  man's  face  towards  the  heavens  will  teach  him  even 
"the  sweet  influences  of  the  Pleiades,"  or  make  him  know 


THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSI1Y.  245 

that  "  the  bands  of  Orion  "  cannot  be  loosed.  The  Chaldsean 
system  of  instruction  through  the  sheepfold  has  gone  out  of 
vogue,  and  the  moon  of  our  nights  comes  down  to  Endymion 
only  through  the  lenses.  The  sum  and  substance  of  all  sci- 
ence is  fact;  and  the  student,  who  does  not  know  what 
research  has  already  disclosed,  cannot  possibly  know  where 
the  research  of  to-morrow  should  begin.  His  danger,  if 
ill-directed  or  without  direction,  will  always  be,  that  he  will 
soon  forget  the  stake  in  the  excitement  or  amusement  of  the 
game,  and  ultimately  subordinate  finding  to  seeking.  It  will 
be  the  familiar  case  of  the  collector,  who  begins  with  a  taste 
or  a  love  for  pictures,  or  prints,  or  books,  and  ends  with  the 
uncontrollable  and  fruitless  passion  for  mere  collecting.  To 
prevent  the  waste  and  abuse  of  intellect  and  effort,  the  abor- 
tive struggle,  the  disappointment  and  defeat  which  come  from 
imperfect  teaching  and  the  self-sufficient  helplessness  of  undis- 
ciplined thought,  is  the  high  and  special  function  of  such 
educational  authority  as  only  a  great  university  can  wield. 
Wherefore,  over  and  above  the  tending  of  its  own  fold,  I  find 
especial  reason  for  rejoicing  in  the  standards  and  methods 
which  this  university  will  establish  and  maintain  among  us, 
and  in  all  our  institutions  of  learning,  by  the  authority  of  its 
example  and  position,  and  by  the  sheer  and  downright  force 
of  its  intellectual  preponderance.  And  when  I  speak  of  pre- 
ponderance, it  is  of  a  superiority,  not  vaunted  but  frankly  and 
generously  recognized — an  authority  not  less  efficient,  because 
founded  on  good  feeling  and  respect,  and  exhibited  in  co-opera- 
tion rather  than  control. 

[Addressing  Judge  Dobbin.] — To  you  and  me,  Mr.  Presi- 
dent of  the  Board  of  Trustees,  and  to  some  of  your  co-workers, 


246  THE  JOHNS  HOPKINS  UNIVERSITY. 

these  things  of  even  the  near  future,  though  visible  enough 
and  bright,  have  something  of  the  light  which  comes  to 
men,  at  evening,  from  beyond  the  sensible  horizon  where 
the  earth-line  fades.  There  is,  perhaps,  in  this,  some  touch 
of  sadness,  but  least  of  all,  to  one,  like  you,  sir,  who  having 
filled  to  the  brim  the  measure  of  official  usefulness  and  honor, 
can  still  give  to  this  great  work  and  to  the  service  of  the 
people  who  cherish  you,  the  wisdom  of  age,  the  tempered 
zeal  of  robust  and  high  convictions,  and  the  vigor  of  facul- 
ties unimpaired. 


NOTES. 


PAGE  5. 

When  this  address  was  printed  for  private  circulation  in  1867, 
it  was  prefaced  by  the  following  note : — 

The  Essay  which  follows  was  written  for  the  Mercantile  Library 
Association  of  Baltimore,  before  which  it  was  read  in  the  Spring 
of  1859.  Since  the  edition  published  by  the  Association  was 
exhausted,  I  have  been  repeatedly  called  upon  for  copies.  These 
requests,  to  my  surprise,  have  been  especially  frequent  of  late, 
and  have  been  most  kindly  urged,  by  gentlemen  of  intelligence, 
in  various  parts  of  the  country.  I  have  been  led  to  believe, 
under  the  circumstances,  that  the  reproduction  of  the  Essay  may 
possibly  lead  to  good,  and  I  have  therefore  printed  it  anew  for 
private  distribution. 

The  last  few  years  have  afforded  many  illustrations,  by  which 
sad  and  effective  point  could  be  added  to  the  views  which  I  have 
endeavored  to  enforce.  They  have  likewise  hastened,  so  precipi- 
tately, the  ordinary  march  of  events,  that  I  have  been  tempted  to 
remodel  some  things  which  now  seem  as  if  they  had  been  written 
half  a  century  ago.  But,  on  the  whole,  I  have  thought  it  wiser 
to  leave  the  text  as  it  first  appeared,  with  a  few,  simply  verbal, 
alterations. 

S.  T.  WALLIS. 

BALTIMORE,  June,  1867. 

PAGE  52,  LINE  7. 

Professor  Nathan  R.  Smith  [s.  T.  w.]. 

247 


248  NOTES. 


PAGE  65. 

At  a  Meeting  of  the  Trustees  of  the  Peabody  Institute  of  the 
City  of  Baltimore,  held  on  the  6th  of  November,  1869,  the  fol- 
lowing Preamble  and  Resolutions  were  adopted  : 

WHEREAS,  The  telegraph  brought  to  us  yesterday  morning  the  sad  tid- 
ings that  our  good  friend  and  patron,  George  Peabody,  died  the  night 
before — at  eleven  o'clock  on  Thursday,  the  4th  of  November,  in  London — 
where  he  had  recently  arrived  from  a  visit  to  this  country,  the  Trustees  of 
the  Institute  have  been  convened  to  take  a  record  of  this  event,  and  to 
direct  such  proceedings  as  shall  properly  express  the  profound  sorrow 
which  it  inspires,  and  render  suitable  honor  to  the  memory  of  the  illus- 
trious founder  of  the  corporation  that  has  been  committed  to  their  charge. 
Therefore 

Resolved,  That  in  the  death  of  George  Peabody  the  civilized  world  has 
lost  one  of  its  most  generous  benefactors,  his  country  an  illustrious  citizen 
whose  active  benevolence  will  long  be  remembered  in  the  wise  and  noble 
institutions  which  he  has  planned  and  founded  for  the  good  of  the  nations, 
and  his  numerous  friends  on  both  sides  of  the  Atlantic  a  most  cherished 
companion,  whose  life  has  been  illustrated  and  adorned  by  the  constant  prac- 
tice of  the  most  conspicuous  probity,  charity  and  good  will  to  mankind. 

Resolved,  That  this  Board  have  received  the  intelligence  of  his  death 
with  an  emotion  rendered  more  poignant  by  their  experience  of  the  bene- 
fits they  have  enjoyed,  in  their  peculiar  personal  relations  to  him,  as  a 
friend  in  whose  intercourse  they  were  accustomed  to  find  a  kindly  and 
eS'ective  co-operation  in  the  performance  of  the  duties  assigned  to  them, 
and  the  most  valuable  aid,  both  in  council  and  resources,  for  the  advance- 
ment of  the  design  of  the  Institute. 

Resolved,  That  in  token  of  respect  for  his  memory  the  Institute  be  closed 
until  Monday,  and  that  it  be  suitably  draped  with  badges  of  mourning,  to 
be  retained  one  month. 

Resolved,  That  the  Board  make  provision  for  a  suitable  eulogy  on  the 
life  and  character  of  the  deceased,  to  be  pronounced  in  the  Hall  of  the 
Institute  at  a  day  hereafter  to  be  determined,  of  which  notice  shall  be 
given  to  the  public. 

Resolved,  That  S.  Teackle  Wallis,  Esq.,  be  invited  to  deliver  the  eulogy 
on  the  life  and  character  of  Mr.  Peabody  provided  for  in  the  foregoing 
resolution. 


NOTES.  249 

Resolved,  That  a  committee  of  three  be  appointed  by  the  Chair  to  carry  the 
above  resolutions  into  effect,  and  that  they  be  also  authorized  to  co-operate 
with  any  public  bodies,  in  the  city  or  State,  who  may  desire  to  unite  with 
the  Trustees  of  the  Peabody  Institute  in  paying  a  proper  tribute  of  respect 
to  the  memory  of  the  late  George  Peabody. 

On  the  15th  of  February,  1870,  among  the  proceedings  of  the 
House  of  Delegates  of  Maryland,  was  the  following : 

Mr.  Hammond  submitted  the  following  message : 

BY  THE  HOUSE  OF  DELEGATES, 

February  16,  1870. 
Gentlemen  of  the  Senate  : 

We  propose,  with  the  concurrence  of  your  Honorable  Body,  the  appoint- 
ment of  a  Committee,  consisting  of  three  on  the  part  of  this  House,  and 
two  on  the  part  of  the  Senate,  to  invite  the  Hon.  S.  Teackle  Wallis  to 
repeat  his  Eulogy  on  the  Life  and  Character  of  George  Peabody,  in  the 
Hall  of  the  House  of  Delegates,  before  the  Governor,  Court  of  Appeals, 
and  General  Assembly  of  Maryland,  at  such  time  as  he  shall  be  pleased  to 
designate.  We  have  appointed,  on  the  part  of  the  House,  Messrs.  Ham- 
mond, Kilbourn  and  Streett. 

By  order,  MILTON  Y.  KIDD, 

Ch  iff  Clerk. 

Which  was  read,  assented  to,  and  sent  to  the  Senate. 

In  the  Senate,  on  the  same  day,  Mr.  Earle  submitted  the 
following  message,  which  was  read,  assented  to,  and  sent  to  the 

House  of  Delegates : 

BY  THE  SENATE, 

February  16,  1870. 
Gentlemen  of  the  House  of  Delegates: 

We  have  received  your  message  proposing  the  appointment  of  a  Com- 
mittee, consisting  of  three  on  the  part  of  the  House,  and  two  on  the  part 
of  the  Senate,  to  invite  the  Hon.  S.  Teackle  Wallis  to  repeat  his  Eulogy  on 
the  Life  and  Character  of  George  Peabody,  in  the  Hall  of  the  House  of 
Delegates,  before  the  Governor,  Court  of  Appeals,  and  General  Assembly 
of  Maryland,  at  such  time  as  he  shall  be  pleased  to  designate,  and  heartily 
concur  therein.  We  have  appointed,  on  the  part  of  the  Senate,  Messrs. 
Earle  and  Hyland. 

By  order,  AUGUSTUS  GASSAWAY, 

Secretary. 

32 


250  NOTES. 

In  response  to  this  invitation,  communicated  to  Mr.  Wallis  by 
the  Joint  Committee,  the  discourse,  originally  delivered  in  the 
City  of  Baltimore  on  the  18th  of  February,  1870,  was  repeated 
by  him  on  February  25th,  in  the  Hall  of  the  House  of  Delegates, 
at  Annapolis,  before  the  Senate  and  House  in  joint  Session,  in 
the  presence  of  His  Excellency  the  Governor  of  the  State,  the 
Honorable  Judges  of  the  Court  of  Appeals,  the  Officers  of  Her 
Britannic  Majesty's  Ship  Monarch  (then  lying  in  Annapolis 
Roads),  and  a  number  of  ladies  and  gentlemen  specially  invited. 

On  the  26th  of  February,  Mr.  Touchstone  submitted,  in  the 
House  of  Delegates,  the  following  resolutions  which  were  unani- 
mously adopted,  and  which  received,  in  due  course,  the  unanimous 
concurrence  of  the  Senate,  viz  : 

JOINT  KESOLUTIONS. 

WHEREAS,  the  discourse  upon  the  Life  and  Character  of  the  late  George 
Peabody,  which  was  yesterday  pronounced  by  8.  Teackle  Wallis,  Esq.,  in 
the  presence  of  the  Senate  and  House  of  Delegates  of  Maryland,  is,  by  its 
just  discrimination,  its  instructive  and  philosophical  analysis  of  character, 
and  its  lofty  eloquence,  entitled  to  rank  amongst  the  most  distinguished 
orations  of  modern  times,  and  ought,  therefore,  to  be  perpetuated  and 
handed  down  to  posterity,  with  the  other  tributes  paid  by  Maryland  to 
the  memory  of  its  immortal  subject, — Therefore, 

Resolved  by  the  Senate  and  House  of  Delegates  of  Maryland,  That  the  thanks 
of  the  two  Houses  are  hereby  offered  to  Mr.  Wallis,  for  his  prompt  accept- 
ance of  their  invitation,  and  that  he  be  requested  to  furnish  a  copy  of  his 
discourse  for  publication. 

Resolved,  That  2,000  copies  of  the  said  discourse  be  printed  for  the  use  of 
the  General  Assembly. 

The  following  correspondence  thereupon  ensued  : 

GENERAL  ASSEMBLY  OF  MARYLAND, 

SENATE, 
ANNAPOLIS,  March  3d,  1870. 

Dear  Sir :  We  beg  to  enclose  the  joint  resolutions  of  the  General  Assem- 
bly of  Maryland,  asking  a  copy  of  your  classic  and  eloquent  Eulogy  on  the 
Life  and  Character  of  George  Peabody,  for  publication.  Having  been 


NOTES.  251 

appointed  a  Committee  to  execute  the  wishes  of  the  Legislature,  we  express 
the  hope  that  it  may  be  agreeable  to  your  views  to  comply  with  this  request. 
We  have  the  honor  to  be,  very  respectfully,  your  ob't  serv'ts, 
ORMOND  HAMMOND,  JAMES  T.  EARLE, 

E.  G.  KILBOUKN,  C.  H.  HYLAND, 

J.  M.  STREETT,  Of  the  Senate. 

Of  the  House. 
HON.  S.  TEACKLE  WALLIS. 

BALTIMORE,  March  4th,  1870. 

Gentlemen:  I  have  before  me  your  flattering  communication  of  yester- 
day's date,  enclosing  me  a  copy  of  the  resolutions  which  the  General 
Assembly  of  Maryland  has  been  pleased  to  adopt,  in  reference  to  my  recent 
discourse  upon  the  Life  and  Character  of  the  late  Mr.  Penbody. 

The  terms  in  which  the  General  Assembly  has  seen  fit  to  characterize 
the  discourse  so  far  transcend  my  own  estimate  of  its  possible  merits,  that 
I  should  have  much  hesitation,  under  other  circumstances,  in  submitting 
it  to  the  deliberate  criticism  of  the  public.  But  the  manuscript  is  already 
in  the  hands  of  the  Committee  of  the  Peabody  Institute,  for  publication, 
and  I  shall  therefore  take  great  pleasure  in  transmitting  you  the  corrected 
proofs  as  soon  as  they  are  ready. 

Let  me  l>eg  you  to  express  to  the  General  Assembly,  in  the  warmest 
way,  my  very  grateful  sense,  not  only  of  the  high  honor  done  me  by  its 
official  proceedings,  but  of  the  great  personal  consideration,  courtesy  and 
kindness,  which  have  left  me  under  so  many  obligations  to  the  officers, 
Committees  and  Members  of  both  Houses. 

I  have  the  honor  to  be,  with  great  regard,  truly  yours, 

S.  T.  WALLIS. 

HON.  JAMES  T.  EARLE,  HON.  ORMOND  HAMMOND, 

"      C.  H.  HYLAND,  "      E.  G.  KILBOURN, 

Committee  of  the  Senate.  "      J.  M.  STREETT, 

Committee  of  the  House  of  Delegates. 


PAGE  141. 

The  ceremonies  attendant  upon  the  unveiling  of  the  Statue 
erected  by  the  State  of  Maryland,  in  honor  of  the  late  Chief 
Justice  ROGER  BROOKE  TANEY,  took  place  in  the  Senate  Cham- 
ber, at  Annapolis,  at  noon  of  December  10th,  1872.  The  Report 
and  Address  of  the  Committee  were  read  by  the  chairman,  Mr. 


252  « NOTES. 

S.  T.  Wallis,  who  in  their  name  made  formal  delivery  of  the  Monu- 
ment to  the  Governor  of  the  State.  His  Excellency,  Governor 
Whyte,  responded  briefly,  and  when  he  had  concluded,  the  com- 
pany proceeded  to  the  grounds  in  front  of  the  State  House,  where, 
upon  the  order  of  the  Governor,  the  statue  was  uncovered. 

During  the  ceremony  in  the  Chamber,  the  Governor  occupied 
the  place  of  the  President  of  the  Senate,  the  Judges  of  the  Court 
of  Appeals,  with  other  prominent  representatives  of  the  Bench 
and  Bar  of  the  State,  being  upon  one  side,  and  the  Officers  of 
the  Naval  Academy,  in  full  uniform,  with  Rear  Admiral  Worden 
at  their  head,  being  seated  on  the  other.  His  Excellency  remained 
standing  during  the  delivery  of  Mr.  Wallis'  address. 


PAGE  169. 

BALTIMORE,  June  7th,  1881. 
Hon.  S.  TEACKLE  WALLIS. 

My  Dear  Sir:  Permit  me  to  inform  you  that  the  Board  of  Managers 
of  the  Maryland  Institute  passed  on  the  6th  of  June  a  resolution  in  which 
the  Chairman  of  the  Schools  of  Art  and  Design  was  requested  to  obtain 
from  you,  for  publication,  a  copy  of  the  speech  made  by  you  on  the  4th  of 
June  at  the  Annual  Commencement  of  said  Schools. 

As  I  hope  that  your  very  able  and  eloquent  address  upon  that  occasion 
may  stimulate  some  of  our  fellow-citizens  to  reflect  upon,  if  not  to  follow, 
the  philanthropic  suggestions  contained  in  it,  you  will,  by  a  compliance  with 
the  desire  of  the  Institute  for  its  publication,  much  oblige, 

Yours,  very  truly, 

CARROLL  SPENCE. 

BALTIMORE,  June  7th,  1881. 
Hon.  CARROLL  SPENCE, 

Chairman,  &c. 

My  Dear  Sir:  In  response  to  your  letter  of  this  morning,  I  have  the 
pleasure  to  send  you,  with  this,  a  copy  of  my  address,  delivered  at  your 
Annual  Commencement,  on  the  4th  of  June.  I  appreciate  the  compliment 
conveyed  by  the  resolution  of  the  Board,  and  shall  be  happy,  if  I  have  been 
able  to  promote  the  interests  of  the  Institute,  or  attract  the  attention  of  the 
public  to  its  claims  upon  their  sympathy  and  support. 

Very  truly  yours, 

S.  T.  WALLIS. 


POEMS. 


POEMS. 


THE  BLESSED  HAND. 


For  you  and  me,  who  love  the  light 

Of  God's  uncloistered  day, 
It  were,  indeed,  a  dreary  lot, 

To  shut  ourselves  away 
From  every  glad  and  sunny  thing 

And  pleasant  sight  and  sound, 
And  pass,  from  out  a  silent  cell, 

Into  the  silent  ground. 

Not  so  the  good  monk,  Anselm,  thought, 

For,  in  his  cloister's  shade, 
The  cheerful  faith  that  lit  his  heart 

Its  own  sweet  sunshine  made  ; 
And  in  its  glow  he  prayed  and  wrote, 

From  matin-song  till  even, 
And  trusted,  in  the  Book  of  Life, 

To  read  his  name  in  Heaven. 

255 


256  POEMS. 

What  holy  books  his  gentle  art 

Filled  full  of  saintly  lore  ! 
What  pages,  brightened  by  his  hand, 

The  splendid  missals  bore  ! 
What  blossoms,  almost  fragrant,  twined 

Around  each  blessed  name, 
And  how  his  Saviour's  cross  and  crown 

Shone  out,  from  cloud  and  flame  ! 

But,  unto  clerk  as  unto  clown, 

One  summons  comes,  alway, 
And  Brother  Anselm  heard  the  call, 

At  vesper-chime,  one  day. 
His  busy  pen  was  in  his  hand, 

His  parchment  by  his  side — 
He  bent  him  o'er  the  half-writ  prayer, 

Kissed  Jesu's  name,  and  died  ! 

They  laid  him  where  a  window's  blaze 

Flashed  o'er  the  graven  stone, 
And  seemed  to  touch  his  simple  name 

With  pencil  like  his  own  ; 
And  there  he  slept,  and,  one  by  one, 

His  brethren  died  the  while, 
And  trooping  years  went  by  and  trod 

His  name  from  off  the  aisle. 

And  lifting  up  the  pavement,  then, 
An  Abbot's  couch  to  spread, 

They  let  the  jewelled  sunlight  in 
Where  once  lay  Anselm's  head. 


POEMS.  257 

No  crumbling  bone  was  there,  no  trace 

Of  human  dust  that  told, 
But,  all  alone,  a  warm  right  hand 

Lay,  fresh,  upon  the  mould. 

It  was  not  stiff,  as  dead  men's  are, 

But,  with  a  tender  clasp, 
It  seemed  to  hold  an  unseen  hand 

Within  its  living  grasp  ; 
And  ere  the  trembling  monks  could  turn 

To  hide  their  dazzled  eyes, 
It  rose,  as  with  a  sound  of  wings, 

Right  up  into  the  skies  ! 

Oh  loving,  open  hands,  that  give ; 

Soft  hands,  the  tear  that  dry  ; 
Oh  patient  hands,  that  toil  to  bless ; 

How  can  ye  ever  die  ! 
Ten  thousand  vows  from  yearning  hearts 

To  Heaven's  own  gates  shall  soar, 
And  bear  you  up,  as  Ansel rn's  hand 

Those  unseen  angels  bore  ! 

Kind  hands  !  oh  never  near  to  you 

May  come  the  woes  ye  heal ! 
Oh  never  may  the  hearts  ye  guard 

The  griefs  ye  comfort,  feel ! 
May  He,  in  whose  sweet  name  ye  build, 

So  crown  the  work  ye  rear, 
That  ye  may  never  clasped  be, 

In  one  unanswered  prayer  ! 


258  POEMS. 


A  PRAYER  FOR  PEACE. 


Peace  !  Peace  !  God  of  our  fathers,  grant  us  Peace ! 
Unto  our  cry  of  anguish  and  despair 
Give  ear  and  pity  !  From  the  lonely  homes 
Where  widowed  beggary  and  orphaned  woe 
Fill  their  poor  urns  with  tears ;  from  trampled  plains 
Where  the  brightest  harvest  Thou  hast  sent  us,  rots, — 
The  blood  of  them  who  should  have  garnered  it 
Calling  to  Thee — from  fields  of  carnage,  where 
The  foul-beaked  vultures,  sated,  flap  their  wings 
O'er  crowded  corpses,  that  but  yesterday 
Bore  hearts  of  brothers,  beating  high  with  love 
And  common  hopes  and  pride,  all  blasted  now ; — 
Father  of  Mercies  !  not  alone  from  these 
Our  prayer  and  wail  are  lifted.     Not  alone 
Upon  the  battle's  seared  and  desolate  track, 
Nor  with  the  sword  and  flame,  is  it,  O  God, 
That  Thou  hast  smitten  us.     Around  our  hearths, 
And  in  the  crowded  streets  and  busy  marts, 
Where  echo  whispers  not  the  far-off  strife 
That  slays  our  loved  ones ; — in  the  solemn  halls 
Of  safe  and  quiet  counsel — nay,  beneath 
The  temple-roofs  that  we  have  reared  to  Thee, 
And  mid  their  rising  incense, — God  of  Peace  ! 
The  curse  of  war  is  on  us.     Greed  and  hate 
Hungering  for  gold  and  blood  :  Ambition,  bred 


POEMS.  259 

Of  passionate  vanity  and  sordid  lusts, 

Mad  with  the  base  desire  of  tyrannous  sway 

Over  men's  souls  and  thoughts,  have  set  their  price 

On  human  hecatombs,  and  sell  and  buy 

Their  sons  and  brothers  for  the  shambles.     Priests, 

With  white,  anointed,  supplicating  hands, 

From  Sabbath  unto  Sabbath  clasped  to  Thee, 

Burn,  in  their  tingling  pulses,  to  fling  down 

Thy  censers  and  thy  cross,  to  clutch  the  throats 

Of  kinsmen  by  whose  cradles  they  were  born, 

Or  grasp  the  brand  of  Herod,  and  go  forth 

Till  Rachel  hath  no  children  left  to  slay. 

The  very  name  of  Jesus,  writ  upon 

Thy  shrines,  beneath  the  spotless,  outstretched  wings 

Of  Thine  Almighty  Dove,  is  wrapt  and  hid 

With  bloody  battle-flags,  and  from  the  spires 

That  rise  above  them,  angry  banners  flout 

The  skies  to  which  they  point,  amid  the  clang 

Of  rolling  war-songs  tuned  to  mock  Thy  praise. 

All  things  once  prized  and  honored  are  forgot. 
The  Freedom  that  we  worshipped,  next  to  Thee, 
The  manhood  that  was  Freedom's  spear  and  shield, 
The  proud,  true  heart,  the  brave,  outspoken  word, 
Which  might  be  stifled,  but  could  never  wear 
The  guise,  whate'er  the  profit,  of  a  lie ; — 
All  these  are  gone,  and  in  their  stead,  have  come 
The  vices  of  the  miser  and  the  slave, — 
Scorning  no  shame  that  bringeth  gold  or  power, 
Knowing  no  love,  or  faith,  or  reverence, 


260  POEMS. 

Or  sympathy,  or  tie,  or  aim,  or  hope, 
Save  as  begun  in  self,  and  ending  there. 
With  vipers  like  to  these,  O  blessed  God  ! 
Scourge  us  no  longer  !     Send  us  down,  once  more, 
Some  shining  seraph  in  Thy  glory  clad, 
To  wake  the  midnight  of  our  sorrowing 
With  tidings  of  Good  Will  and  Peace  to  men ; 
And  if  the  star  that  through  the  darkness  led 
Earth's  wisdom  then,  guide  not  our  folly  now, 
Oh,  be  the  lightning  Thine  Evangelist, 
With  all  its  fiery,  forked  tongues,  to  speak 
The  unanswerable  message  of  Thy  will. 

Peace  !  Peace  !  God  of  our  fathers,  grant  us  Peace ! 
Peace  in  our  hearts  and  at  Thine  altars ;  Peace 
On  the  red  waters  and  their  blighted  shores ; 
Peace  for  the  leaguered  cities,  and  the  hosts 
That  watch  and  bleed,  around  them  and  within  ; 
Peace  for  the  homeless  and  the  fatherless ; 
Peace  for  the  captive  on  his  weary  way, 
And  the  mad  crowds  who  jeer  his  helplessness. 
For  them  that  suffer,  them  that  do  the  wrong ; 
Sinning  and  sinned  against — O  God  !  for  all — 
For  a  distracted,  torn,  and  bleeding  land — 
Speed  the  glad  tidings  !  Give  us,  give  us  Peace  ! 


POEMS.  261 


THE   LAST   OF   THE   HOURS. 


Daughter  of  light !  thy  gaze,  methinks,  is  sad  ; 

Thy  hooded  vesture  hath  no  bloom  of  flowers — 
Why,  'mid  so  blithe  a  host,  art  thoti  not  glad  ? 

What  grief  hath  stung  thee,  fairest  of  the  Hours? 

Is  it  that  Heaven's  own  children,  when  their  lot 
Is  bent  to  human  circumstance,  like  thine, 

Share  the  near  sorrows  which  themselves  have  not, 
And  round  the  immortal  brow  earth's  cypress  twine  ? 

When  at  the  couch  of  pain  the  morning  calls, 
Thou  art  the  last  to  chase  the  fevered  dream  ; 

When  welcome  night  upon  the  weary  falls, 
Thine  is  the  ling'ring,  last,  intrusive  beam  ! 

Of  those  that  love  and  part,  the  vigils  pale 

Are  they  not  thine  ? — and  thine  the  watcher's  sigh, 

As,  with  wet  eyes,  she  sees  the  misty  sail 

Sink  down,  with  thee,  beneath  the  twilight  sky  ? 

Hast  thou  not  seen — nay  see'st  thou  not,  each  day — 
Youth,  purity,  and  truth,  and  trust,  depart — 

Dreams  vanish — struggles  ended — hopes  decay — 
And  change,  cold  as  the  grave,  come  o'er  the  heart  ? 

Thou  too  art  Death's  own  hour — the  dim,  the  dread — 
In  whose  wan  light  his  shadow  creepeth  o'er 
34 


262  POEMS. 

The  opening,  awful  pathway  we  must  tread, 
And  the  loved  places  we  shall  know  no  more. 

Yet  not  all  sad  thy  round  !     The  passing  bell 
Gives  thee  ofttimes  sweet  music  as  it  rings — 

There  are  deep  joy-notes  even  in  its  knell, 
For  sorrow  dieth,  like  the  brightest  things  ! 

The  dew  that  at  the  haunted  even-tide 

Thou  weepest,  as  last  mourner  o'er  the  day, 

Last  Hour  of  night !  are  not  its  tear-drops  dried, 
By  the  wild  morning's  first  exultant  ray  ? 

Though  thine  the  woe  of  partings,  know'st  thou  not- 
Long  absence  over — joy  come  home  anew  ? 

'Mid  hopes  and  dreams  that  leave  us,  why  forgot 
Are  anguish,  doubt,  despair,  departed  too  ? 

And  e'en  when  life  goes  wasting,  with  thy  sands, 
And  tears  fall  fast,  and,  in  the  noiseless  tread, 

The  quivering  whisper,  the  cold  clasped  hands, 

And  the  wild  prayer — half  madness — may  be  read 

Our  mortal  story's  ending — even  then 

How  oft,  last  Hour,  is  there  a  light  that  springs 

Out  of  thy  darkness,  which  the  fears  of  men 
Can  dim  not  nor  o'ershadow — but  which  flings 

A  glory,  brighter  than  the  noon-day's,  round 
The  bed  thou  watehest,  until  grief  and  dread 


POEMS.  263 

Blaze  into  triumph,  and  the  trumpet's  sound 
Swells  high  with  welcome  as  it  calls  the  dead ! 

Let  then  the  daughter  of  old  Chaos  wear 
The  robe  of  shadows  and  the  mantled  brow  ! 

Unbind  thy  tresses  to  the  rosy  air, 

And  to  the  Sun,  with  sunshine,  answer  Thou  ! 


TRUTH   AND   REASON. 


How  beautiful  the  fantasy 

That  warmed  the  brain  of  him  of  old — 
The  watcher  of  the  midnight  sky — 

Who,  as  the  stars  above  him  rolled, 
Untaught  of  dim  Primeval  Cause 
And  crowned  will  and  sceptred  laws, 
Had  glimpses  of  a  spirit-baud, 

Careering  through  the  trackless  air, 
Each  shaping,  with  a  giant's  hand 

The  orbit  of  a  blazing  sphere  ! 

A  holier  thought  and  not  less  bright 

It  is,  that  o'er  the  sands  of  time, 
We  walk  not  in  the  mystic  light 
Of  Providence,  far  off,  sublime, 

Nor  Fate,  nor  Chance,  with  baleful  ray, 
Kindles  the  lode-star  of  our  way  ; 


264  POEMS. 

But,  that  where'er  our  tents  are  cast, 
Each  hath  an  Angel  by  his  side, 

From  the  first  life-sigh  to  the  last, 

His  guardian,  champion,  friend  and  guide. 

Such  faith  seems  half  idolatry 

To  speculation's  earth-turned  eyes, 
But  wo  befall  us,  if  we  see 

No  truth  save  that  in  reason's  guise  ! 

The  simplest  child,  in  sun  and  storm, 
Hath  visions  of  God's  awful  form, 
That  dazzled  science  could  not  paint ; 

And  he,  who  bends  to  laws  alone, 
May  mock  the  worship  of  the  saint, 

Yet  kneel  unto  a  graven  stone  ! 

The  Heathen,  when  his  fancy  gave 

Their  deities  to  all  things  fair — 
Set  Neptune's  trident  o'er  the  wave, 

And  temples  made  of  earth  and  air — 
Had  more  of  worship  in  his  heart, 
More  of  religion's  better  part, 
Than  he  who  dives  in  reason's  well 

For  all  the  truth  to  mortals  given, 
And  from  its  depths  alone,  will  tell 

The  starry  mysteries  of  Heaven  ! 

I  would  not,  that  the  dreams  of  old 
Should  veil  again  the  wakened  mind, 

Nor  mine  their  faitli  who  idly  hold 
That  to  be  wise  we  need  be  blind  ; 


POEMS.  265 

But,  when  I  sec  how  darkly  lie 
The  plainest  things  before  mine  eye, 
That,  with  each  turn  of  reason's  wheel, 

Falsehood  and  truth,  both,  upward  go, 
I  can  but  think  that  what  I  feel 
Is  best  and  most  of  what  I  know  ! 


BEAUTY   AND   FAITH. 


The  Painter  turned  him  to  the  sky, 
And,  as  he  gazed,  a  cloud  went  by, 

Whose  purple  seemed  to  fold 
A  vision,  round  whose  golden  hair 
The  morning  stars  a  glory  were, 

And  worshipped  as  they  rolled. 

Beneath  his  flashing  pencil  then 
Grew  forms  of  light,  unknown  to  men, 

And  lo  !  the  canvas  gleams 
As  if  the  Painter's  hand  had  caught 
The  vesture  of  a  seraph's  thought 

To  robe  immortal  dreams  ! 

Time  hath  not  dimm'd  them  !  Pilgrims  bow 
Before  that  dazzling  beauty  now 

As  when,  from  opened  heaven, 
Rapt  genius  snatched  its  kindling  ray, 


266  POEMS. 

And  revelled  in  that  glorious  day 
To  inspiration  given  ! 

But  he,  the  Painter,  did  he  kneel 
And  in  his  own  high  phrensy  feel 

The  awful,  present  God  ? 
Not  so  !     The  shrine  was  poor  and  dim 
Where  faith,  not  beauty,  lit  for  him 

The  path  that  angels  trod  ! 

Ah  !  for  ourselves  indeed  'twere  well, 
If  Love  were  part  of  Fancy's  spell, 

And  all  things  bright  were  dear ; 
If  we  could  bless  as  well  as  build, 
And  Deity  and  worship  filled 

What  temples  we  might  rear  ! 

In  vain  our  hands  shall  altars  raise, 
Though  meet  they  be  for  proudest  praise, 

And  genius  grave  the  stone  ; 
For  howsoe'er  the  gods  be  shrined 
That  lure  the  incense  of  the  mind, 

The  heart  adores  its  own  ! 


POEMS.  267 


THE   EXILE'S   PRAYER. 


He  speaks  !     The  lingering  locks,  that  cold 

And  few  and  gray,  fall  o'er  his  brow, 
Were  bright,  with  childhood's  clustered  gold, 

When  last  that  voice  was  heard  as  now. 
He  speaks  !  and  as  with  flickering  blaze 

Life's  last  dim  embers,  waning,  burn, 
Fresh  from  the  unsealed  fount  of  praise, 

His  childhood's  gushing  words  return. 

Ah  !  who  can  tell  what  visions  roll 

Before  those  wet  and  clouded  eyes, 
As,  o'er  the  old  man's  parting  soul, 

His  childhood's  wakened  memories  rise  ! 
The  fields  are  green  and  gladsome  still, 

That  smiled  around  his  sinless  home, 
And  back,  from  ancient  vale  and  hill, 

Exultant  echoes  bounding  come  ! 

He  treads  that  soil,  the  first  he  pressed, 

He  shouts  with  all  his  boyish  glee, 
He  rushes  to  his  mother's  breast, 

He  clasps  and  climbs  his  father's  knee ; 
And  then — the  prayer  that  nightly  rose, 

Warm  from  his  lisping  lips,  of  yore, 
Bursts  forth,  to  bless  that  evening's  close 

Whose  slumbers  earth  shall  break  no  more ! 


268  POEMS. 

Dark  though  our  brightest  lot  may  be, 

From  toil  to  sin  and  sorrow  driven, 
Sweet  childhood  !  we  have  still,  in  thee, 

A  link  that  holds  us  near  to  heaven ! 
When  Mercy's  errand  angels  bear, 

'Tis  in  thy  raiment  that  they  shine, 
And  if  one  voice  reach  Mercy's  ear, 

That  blessed  voice  is  surely  thine  ! 

God  of  his  fathers  !  may  the  breath 

That  upward  wafts  the  exile's  sigh, 
Rise,  fragrant,  from  the  lips  of  death, 

As  the  first  prayer  of  infancy  ! 
Frown  not,  if  through  his  childhood,  back, 

The  old  man  heavenward  seeks  his  way — 
Thy  light  was  on  that  morning  track, 

It  can  but  lead  to  Thee  and  day  ! 


THE   FIRST   GRAVE. 


The  city  of  the  dead  hath  thrown  wide  its  gates  at  last, 
And  through  the  cold  gray  portal  a  funeral  train  hath  passed 
One  grave — the  first — is  open,  and  on  its  lonely  bed, 
Some  heir  of  sin  and  sorrow  hath  come  to  lay  his  head. 

Perchance  a  hero  cometh,  whose  chaplet,  in  its  bloom, 
Hath  fallen  from  his  helmet,  to  wither  on  his  tomb  : 


POEMS.  269 

It  may  be  that  hot  youth  comes — it  may  be,  we  behold 
Here,  broken  at  the  cistern,  pale  beauty's  bowl  of  gold. 

Mayhap  that  manhood's  struggle,  despite  of  pride  and  power, 
Hath  ended  in  the  darkness  and  sadness  of  this  hour : 
Perchance  some  white-haired  pilgrim,  with  travel  so  re  oppressed, 
Hath  let  his  broken  staff  fall,  and  bent  him  down  to  rest. 

But  stay  !  behold  the  sepulchre — nor  age  nor  strength  is  there  ; 
Nor  fame,  nor  pride,  nor  manhood,  those  lagging  mourners 

bear : 

A  little  child  is  with  them,  as  pale  and  pure  as  snow, 
Her  mother's  tears  not  dried  yet  upon  her  gentle  brow. 

The  step  that  tottered,  trembling,  the  heart  that  faltered,  too, 
At  the  faintest  sound  of  terror  the  infant  spirit  knew  ; 
The  eyes  that  glistened  tearful  when  shadowy  eve  came  on, 
Now  show  no  dread  of  sleeping  in  darkness  and  alone. 

And  why,  though  all  be  lonely,  should  that  young  spirit  fear, 
Through  midnight  and  through  tempest,  no  shielding  bosom 

near  ? 

Ere  the  clod  was  on  the  coffin — ere  the  spade  had  cleft  the  clod — 
Bright  angels  clad  an  angel  in  the  raiment  of  their  God  ! 

Green  home  of  future  thousands  !  how  blest  in  sight  of  heaven 
Are  these,  the  tender  firstlings,  that  death  to  thee  has  given  ! 
Though  prayer  and  solemn  anthem  have  echoed  from  thy  hill, 
This  first  fresh  grave  of  childhood  hath  made  thee  holier  still. 
35 


270  POEMS. 

The  morning  flowers  that  deck  thee  shall  sweeter,  lovelier, 

bloom 

Above  the  spot  where  beauty  like  theirs  hath  found  a  tomb ; 
And  when  the  evening  cometh,  the  very  stars  shall  keep 
A  vigil,  as  of  seraphs,  where  innocence  doth  sleep. 

Sweet  hope !   that  when  the  slumbers  of  thy  pilgrims  shall 

be  o'er, 

And  the  valley  of  death's  shadow  hath  mystery  no  more, 
To  them  the  trumpet's  clangor  may  whisper  accents  mild, 
And  bid  them  wear  the  garlands  that  crown  this  little  child  ! 


THE   SPECTKE   OF   COLALTO. 


I. 

How  many  a  gem  hath  Nature's  hand 
Flung  o'er  Italia's  fallen  land  ! 
How  bright  the  world  she  bids  to  bloom 
Around  old  Empire's  prostrate  tomb  ! 
Oh  !  who,  with  patriot  soul  to  dare, 
Could  gaze  upon  a  land  so  fair, 
Or  list,  as  Nature's  joy  goes  by 
From  vocal  wood  and  echoing  sky, 
Or  feel  that  yon  ethereal  dome 
Hangs,  ever  cloudless,  o'er  his  home, 
And  not — with  hand  upon  his  sword, 
And  "  Rome  and  Brutus  ! "  for  his  word- 


POEMS.  271 

Fling  off  the  chain  that  galls  him  now, 
Bind  once  again  about  his  brow 
The  laurel  of  the  glorious  past, 
And,  kneeling  by  some  temple's  wall, 
Whose  heavenless  gods  for  vengeance  call, 
Swear  that — unyielding  to  the  last — 
He  will  not  shame  his  father's  grave, 
And  live — a  Roman  and  a  slave  ! 

Alas  !  Italia's  brighter  day, 
Her  glory's  noon,  hath  passed  away, 
And,  mindless  of  their  country's  wrong, 
Her  sons,  with  love  and  dance  and  song. 
Now  teach  the  stream  of  joy  to  swell 
From  matin  chime  to  vesper  bell. 
But  not  upon  their  souls  is  thrown 
The  blight  of  luxury  alone, 
For  there  her  throne  hath  falsehood  made, 
There  vengeance  bares  the  bravo's  blade, 
And  men,  for  rights  who  dare  not  bleed, 
Lurk  armed  for  murder's  midnight  deed. 

O 

They  too,  the  daughters  of  that  clime, 
How  is  their  beauty  linked  with  crime  ! 
By  passion's  cunning  taught  to  know 
Aifection's  lightest  ebb  or  flow  ; 
Familiar  with  each  jealous  wile, 
Too  prompt  to  seek  for  falsehood's  guile, 
Too  apt,  from  any  doubts,  to  prove 
The  frailty  of  the  hearts  they  love, 
They  pass  o'er  life,  as  o'er  a  sea 
Of  bitterness  and  mockery  ; 


272  POEMS. 

Too  ardent  for  a  world  like  this, 
Too  high  in  hope  for  earthly  bliss  ! 

Oh  !  would  ye  know  how  dread  the  fate 
That  drinks  the  venom  of  their  hate, 
Go,  hear  it  in  the  long  wild  cry 
That  echoes  round  Colalto's  towers  ! 
Go,  ask  it  of  the  moonless  sky 
That  on  a  woman's  vengeance  lowers  ! 
Go,  seek  it  where,  from  you  gray  wall, 
Now  crumbles  fast  the  stony  pall 
Of  one  whom,  to  her  living  grave, 
Without  a  Christian  rite  to  bless, 
A  woman's  vengeance  madly  gave, 
In  her  youth's  prime  and  loveliness. 
Bethink  ye,  when  each  mould'ring  bone 
Beneath  your  touch  to  dust  hath  gone, 
That  she,  whose  wreck  before  you  lies, 
Was  radiant  as  her  own  bright  skies 
In  brow  and  cheek,  and  form  and  air 
As  pure,  as  sunny,  and  as  fair  ! 
Methinks  in  yonder  bower  she  stands, 
Her  lady's  tresses  in  her  hands, 
And  o'er  her  lips  there  plays  the  while 
A  lucid  and  a  happy  smile — 
A  smile  so  fraught  with  peace  and  joy, 
By  innocence  so  heavenly  made, 
So  free  from  grovelling  earth's  alloy, 
'Twere  mournful  it  should  ever  fade. 
Upon  her  face,  with  raptured  mien, 
Colalto's  lord  is  fondly  seen 


POEMS.  273 

To  turn  his  eye's  scarce  smothered  flame, 

While  now  and  then,  by  stealth,  there  came 

A  sigh  which  told  how  wild  a  guest 

Had  made  its  homestead  in  his  breast. 

The  thoughts  he  dares  not  then  to  speak 

Are  burning  on  his  swarthy  cheek, 

And  on  his  lips,  and  o'er  his  brow, 

The  smile,  the  flush,  to  fever  grow  ! 

Unconscious  of  his  lawless  gaze, 

With  fairy  hand  she  lightly  plays 

Amid  her  lady's  flowing  hair, 

And  smiling  on,  with  that  bright  smile, 

She  seems  as  if  no  dream  of  guile, 

No  tainted  thought,  could  enter  there  ! 

Alas  !  across  the  mirror's  face, 
Her  lady's  jaundiced  sight  may  trace 
Where,  true  to  life,  reflected  steals 
Each  glance  her  lord  too  ill  conceals ; 
And  when  she  marks  that  maiden's  eye, 
And  lip,  so  full  of  ecstasy, 
Though  bleeds  her  thrilling  bosom,  torn 
In  turns,  by  fury,  hate,  and  scorn, 
No  word  she  speaks — but,  ere  the  night 
Hath  half  run  o'er  its  dismal  flight, 
In  yon  deep,  torch-lit  vault,  they  say, 
A  deed  is  done  which  weary  years 
Of  madness  and  repentant  tears 
Were  all  too  few  to  cleanse  away  ! 

Why  should  we  paint  yon  niche's  shade — 
The  fainting  form  within  it  laid — 


274  POEMS. 

The  hurried  wall  that  o'er  it  rose — 

The  shriek  that  cursed  its  murderous  close  ? 

When  morning  dawned  'twas  bright  as  e'er, 

But  not  amid  the  throng  appear 

Those  charms  which  erst  were  wont  to  glow 

So  brightly  in  the  pageant's  show ; 

And,  though  they  searched  the  castle  o'er — 

Though  every  tongue  in  sorrow  spoke — 

Since  that  unhallowed  morning  broke, 

The  one  they  sought  was  found  no  more. 

II. 

What  tyrant's  hand,  what  stern  array, 
Can  bolt,  or  bar,  or  dungeon  find 
To  stay  the  soarings  of  the  mind, 
E'en  when  begirt  with  chains  of  clay? 
Then,  when  the  dust  hath  found  its  own, 
And,  fetterless,  the  soul  hath  gone, 
Shall  not  its  angel-pinions  wave 
High  o'er  the  darkness  of  the  grave? 
And  if  there  be  some  cherished  scene 
Where  deathless  memory  lingers  yet — 
Some  spot  which  green  and  bright  had  been 
Before  the  sun  of  life  had  set; 
Or,  if  there  be  some  withered  spot 
Beyond  the  grave  yet  un forgot, 
Round  which  life's  darker  curtains  hung, 
O'er  which  her  cloud  had  passion  flung, 
Then  say — why,  after  life's  sad  close, 


POEMS.  'lib 

May  not  the  spirit  circle  o'er, 
As  perfume  haunts  the  faded  rose, 
The  realms  it  blessed  or  cursed  before? 
Why — when  the  noisy  day  hath  past, 
And  midnight's  shades  are  round  us  cast, 
May  not  the  soul  delight  to  fling 
The  shadow  of  its  silver  wing 
Around  the  mortal  couch  where  those 
It  loved  in  life's  dark  vale,  repose? 
To  heal  the  mourner's  wounded  breast, 
To  soothe  each  waking  grief  to  rest, 
Or  robed  in  godlike  justice,  throw 
Its  lightning  on  the  guilty  brow  ? 
May  not  the  spark  that  never  dies 
Start  from  its  ashes  into  flame  ? 
Uncalled,  may  not  the  spirit  rise, 
As  erst  the  spell-bound  prophet's  came  ? 

Enough  :  the  grave  alone  can  tell 
How  fare  the  tenants  of  its  cell, 
And  they  who  sleep  or  dream  below, 
Its  secret  realms  alone  may  know. 
But  this  they  say,  that  human  eye 
Oft  sees  a  maiden  form  go  by, 
When  death  or  sorrow  hangs  its  pall 
Around  Colalto's  guilty  hall. 
When  danger  haunts  the  bloody  chase, 
That  form  outstrips  the  courser's  pace ; 
By  night,  by  day,  that  form  is  still 
The  shadow  of  some  coming  ill ; 
And,  ever  robed  in  virgin  white, 


276  POEMS. 

With  marble  smile  and  eye  of  light, 

Hath  been,  through  all  its  wav'ring  state, 

The  herald  of  Colalto's  fate. 

Time  hath  not  blanched  a  single  hair 

Of  those  which  made  that  brow  more  fair ; 

Not  years  on  years  have  taught  to  die 

The  lustre  of  that  fadeless  eye  ! 

Of  her  who  spake  that  maiden's  doom, 

They  know  not  now  the  mouldered  tomb, 

Nor  seek  they  in  what  unseen  shade 

Her  children's  children's  bones  are  laid ; 

But  when,  at  twilight's  dreamy  hour, 

The  huntsman  spurs  his  lagging  steed 

To  cross  Colalto's  haunted  mead 

Ere  ghostlier  still  the  shadows  low'r, 

If  rustles  by  the  evening  air, 

To  Mary's  throne  he  lifts  his  prayer, 

That  she  who  rules  the  twilight  grove 

Will  shield  him  with  a  mother's  love ; 

Or  crosses  fervently  his  breast, 

As  o'er  his  path  dim  visions  roll, 

That  He,  who  gives  the  weary  rest, 

Will  calm  that  maiden's  troubled  soul. 


POEMS.  277 


IN   FORT  WARREN. 


The  anchors  are  weighed,  and  the  gates  of  your  prison 
Fall  wide,  as  your  ship  gives  her  prow  to  the  foam, 

And  a  few  hurried  hours  shall  return  you,  exulting, 

Where  the  flag  you  have  fought  for  floats  over  your  home. 

God  send  that  not  long  may  its  folds  be  uplifted 
O'er  fields  dark  and  sad  with  the  trail  of  the  fight ; 

God  give  it  the  triumph  He  always  hath  given, 
Or  sooner  or  later,  to  Valor  and  Right ! 

But  if  Peace  may  not  yet  wreathe  your  brows  with  her  olive, 
And  new  victims  are  still  round  her  altar  to  bleed, 

God  shield  you  amid  the  red  bolts  of  the  battle, 

God  give  you  stout  hearts  for  high  thought  and  brave  deed  ! 

No  need  we  should  bid  you  go  strike  for  your  freedom — 
Ye  have  stricken,  like  men,  for  its  blessings,  before ; 

And  your  homes  and  your  loved  ones,  your  wrongs  and  your 

manhood, 
Will  nerve  you  to  fight  the  good  fight,  o'er  and  o'er  ! 

But  will  ye  not  think,  as  ye  wave  your  glad  banners, 
How  the  flag  of  Old  Maryland,  trodden  in  shame, 

Lies,  sullied  and  torn,  in  the  dust  of  her  highways, 
And  will  ye  not  strike  a  fresh  blow  in  her  name  ? 
36 


278  POEMS. 

Her  mothers  have  sent  their  first-born  to  be  with  you, 
Wherever  with  blood  there  are  fields  to  be  won ; 

Her  daughters  have  wept  for  you,  clad  you,  and  nursed  you, 
Their  hopes,  and  their  vows,  and  their  smiles,  are  your  own  ! 

Let  her  cause  be  your  cause,  and  whenever  the  war-cry 
Bids  you  rush  to  the  field,  oh  !  remember  her  too ; 

And  when  Freedom  and  Peace  shall  be  blended  in  Glory, 
Oh  !  count  it  your  shame,  if  she  be  not  with  you  ! 

And  if,  in  the  hour  when  pride,  honor,  and  duty 
Shall  stir  every  throb  in  the  hearts  of  brave  men, 

The  wrongs  of  the  helpless  can  quicken  such  pulses, 
Let  the  captives  at  Warren  give  flame  to  them  then  ! 


WORSHIP. 


'Tis  not  in  anthems  that  from  builded  fanes 
Go  up  with  smoke  of  incense ;  in  the  wail 
Of  sorrow,  or  repentance,  nor  the  cry 
Of  supplicating  anguish — not  in  all 
The  prayers  that  living  lips  can  syllable, 
Nor  in  the  throb  of  adoration  mute, 
That  stirs  the  breathless  spirit  on  the  shore 
Of  the  lone  ocean,  or  when  midnight's  stars 
Slow  swing  their  ceaseless  censers,  or  the  flowers 
And  seasons  lift  our  hearts  to  Him  whose  hand 


POEMS.  279 

Hath  wreathed  them  all  with  beauty — not  alone 
In  these  or  all  of  these,  dwells  there  or  speaks 
The  true,  deep  soul  of  worship  !     Far,  between 
The  God  who  made  us  and  ourselves,  there  lie 
Eternal  depths  of  distance.     Sad  and  ill 
It  were  to  bear,  were  there  divinity 
No  nearer  to  us !  were  the  Patriarch's  dream 
Of  steps  of  light  that  climbed  from  earth  to  sky, 
With  angels  gliding  o'er  them,  but  a  mist 
Shaped  by  the  brain  of  slumber  !     Nay — there  is 
Divinity  about  us,  and  our  earth 
Hath,  in  some  mortal  shapes  that  walk  it  with  us, 
Creatures  so  full  of  Heav'n  that  prayer  to  them 
Cannot  be  all  idolatry  !     They  fill 
The  shrine — they  wake  the  worship,  and  it  soars 
To  where  they  stooped  from.    Unto  them,  we  bow 
The  head  in  rev'rence,  as  Religion  bends 
When  holiest  names  are  uttered.     On  their  souls 
The  shade  of  frailty  seems  to  have  been  flung 
But  that  they  might  not  be  too  bright  to  bless 
The  upturned  eyes  of  love.     To  them  the  clay 
Is  but  the  robe  of  beauty,  as  the  cloud 
That  blushes  in  the  dawn,  or  crimsons  o'er 
The  sunset,  or  sends  forth  the  flashing  storm, 
Is  but  the  earth-wove  mantle  that  the  skies 
Wear  for  our  joy  and  wonder  ! 


280  POEMS. 


DREAMS. 


YOUTH. 

I  will  to  rest,  for  though  the  morn  and  all 
The  starry  prodigals  are  flinging  down 
Their  silver  on  the  night,  and  all  we  see 
Is  bright,  and  soft,  and  peaceful,  yet  to  me 
Far  dearer  are  my  dreams  !     Oh  blessed  gift, 
From  God  to  his  loved  children,  that  whene'er 
Life's  load  is  heavy  on  them,  and  the  shade 
Of  waking  woe  is  dark  upon  their  souls, 
There  is  a  fairy  garden  in  the  realm 
Of  sleep,  which  they  may  seek,  and  there,  amid 
The  blossoms  of  sweet  flowers,  the  lulling  flow 
Of  ceaseless  fountains,  and  the  siren  chant 
Of  many-colored  birds,  may  lay  them  down 
And  feel  that  life  hath  rest ! 

AGE. 

Alas,  Alas ! 

How  is  the  eye  of  youth  a  glorious  prism, 
Through  which  plain  light  falls  beautiful !     To  me 
There  is  no  charm  in  dreams.     I  can  recall 
The  night  when,  to  my  childhood's  pillow,  came 
Green  visions  of  the  fields  at  early  morn, 
With  dew  and  flower  and  fragrance — when  I  heard 
In  sleep,  the  voices  of  companions  near, 


POEMS.  281 

That  bade  me  wake  to  sport,  and  when  my  heart 

Would  quicken  its  weak  beatings,  as  I  saw 

The  charms  that  lit  the  morrow's  fancied  hours ! 

There  was  a  change.     The  forms  that  flitted  round 

My  couch  were  those  of  friends,  or,  brighter  still, 

Of  those  that  I  had  learned  to  love,  and  then 

Sleep's  hours  were  peopled  with  more  burning  thoughts, 

But  not  less  joyous.     Life  then  looked,  in  dreams, 

As  to  a  traveller,  from  a  new-reached  hill, 

Glow  the  glad  lands  before  him.     All  was  near. 

Soft  hands  were  beckoning  onwards ;  glancing  eyes 

Flashed  on  the  paths  I  followed,  and  there  swelled 

A  larger,  warmer  being  in  my  veins, 

Till  life  was  one  fierce  ecstasy  !     There  came 

Another  change.     The  visions  of  the  night 

Though  gorgeous  still,  did  seem  to  lead  me  on 

With  ruder  and  more  anxious  hand,  and  though 

My  way  was  onward,  and  obstruction  fell 

Before  my  touch,  and  still,  as  erst,  my  step 

Was  proud — scorn  had  locked  hands  with  pride — 

More  heavily  the  birds  did  flit  around 

And  o'er  my  path,  with  all  the  jewelled  plumes 

Fall'n  from  their  wings.     The  earth  was  green,  as  yet, 

And  flowers  still  bloomed,  but  they  had  parted,  too, 

With  their  old  fragrance.     There  was  dust  on  all 

The  things  I  saw — the  dust  of  strife  and  toil — 

The  breezes  that  had  fanned  me  in  the  morn, 

Were  tempests  now,  and  death  was  in  their  sweep ! 

Thus  passed  I  on,  until,  by  slow  degrees, 
In  sleep's  still  landscape  shade  by  shade  began 


282  POEMS. 

To  glide  across  the  fields.     The  flowers  did  droop, 
And  the  grass  withered  ;  nor  could  I  distil 
One  balmy  drop,  save  from  the  precious  Past. 
Then,  as,  in  childhood's  dreams,  the  Future  sate 
Upon  a  starry  throne  and  bade  me  come  ; 
As,  in  my  manhood's  slumber,  there  abode 
The  eternal  Present  only — so  the  Past 
Gave  all  its  life  to  sleep.     I  felt,  that  though 
The  fruit  was  heavy  on  the  limb,  yet  there 
The  leaf  grew  yellow  by  it,  and  the  tree 
Had  lost  the  charm  it  wore  when  it  was  red 
With  bee-sipped  blossoms ! 

Tell  me  not  of  dreams  ! 

They  are  the  sport  of  him  who  hath  not  known 
The  changes  of  his  state.     They  are  the  song 
Of  him  who  hath  not  heard  the  requiem  sound 
O'er  all  that  he  loved  best.     They  are  the  bow 
Of  promise  to  the  eye  which  hath  not  seen 
The  sunshine  from  the  bosom  of  life's  cloud 
Go  fading,  till  the  shadows  made  its  tomb  ! 
Speak  not  of  dreams  !     No  dreams,  no  dreams  for  me  ! 


POEMS.  283 


LIFE. 

Antonio.  Then,  why,  my  Lord, 

I  prithee  tell  me,  dost  thou  frown  at  life, 
Its  joys,  its  hopes?     Why  dost  thou  scoff  at  all 
The  brightness  of  its  raiment,  and  with  life 
Compressed  in  most  contemptuous  bitterness, 
So  scorn  the  happiness  that  blooms  around 
Its  devious  pathway  ?     Surely,  though  its  cup 
Be  not  all  sweetness,  few  there  are,  meseems, 
Who  may  not  drink  from  it  a  nectared  draught ; 
The  toil-wrung  hind — the  very  slave — may  learn 
It  hath  some  cordial  drops  for  his  poor  heart — 
Then  how,  my  Lord,  dost  thou,  so  doubly  girt 
With  earth's  most  costly  blessings,  find  it  in  thee, 
To  turn  thy  spirit  from  them,  veiling  it 
In  this  so  black  and  causeless  melancholy  ? 

Carlos.     Thou  speak'st  of  that  thou  know'st  not.     Cause 

there  is 

For  all  who  ponder  on  the  breath  they  draw, 
To  fling  light-hearted  laughter  from  their  lips, 
No  more  to  play  there. 

Midnight,  now,  it  is, 

And  yonder  rides  the  mild  autumnal  moon, 
Without! a  cloud  upon  her  lustrous  brow — 
Dost  thou  believe  my  heart  so  cold,  that  thence 
The  pulses  leap  not  wildly,  when  I  see 


284  POEMS. 

So  mirrored  there  eternal  love  and  power  ? 

Too  warm,  alas,  the  current  springs,  to  fill 

Each  thrilling  vein  !  but,  chilled  again,  shrinks  back 

When  I  do  mind  me  of  the  wretched  dust, 

They  say  yon  splendor  beams  for  !     What  a  world, 

And  what  a  Heaven,  for  what  a  paltry  worm  ! 

Antonio.     Nay,  chafe  not  thus,  but  rather  let  thine  age 
Go  revelling  o'er  the  Paradise  whose  sheen 
Is  glorious  around  !     The  hand  that  laid 
Each  shadow  and  each  blaze  of  this  fair  light, 
So  wondrously,  on  such  a  wondrous  world, 
Did  it  not  frame  a  meet  inhabitant 
For  this  so  goodly  mansion  ?     Out  on  thee  ! 
That  thou  would'st  drag  the  withered  leaves  to  sight 
And  hide  the  blossom  and  the  fruit  of  life  ! 

Carlos.     Speak  not  of  withered  leaves  !     At  this  lone  hour, 
When  silence  hath  his  finger  on  the  lips 
Of  Earth  and  all  the  earth-born,  as  I  list 
Where  from  yon  tree,  whose  dappled  foliage  gleams, 
Half  sere,  half  verdant,  in  the  doubtful  light, 
Drops  rustling,  here  and  there,  the  frequent  leaf — 
The  thought  comes  o'er  me,  that  this  gloomy  time 
Is  but  the  image  of  my  life-time's  hour ; 
And  I  remember  me  of  all  who  now, 
Have  fallen,  withered,  from  the  tree  of  fate, 
And  left  me  lonely. 

Antonio.  Is  it  wise,  my  Lord, 

To  dwell  in  sorrow,  for  that  Death  hath  pierced 


POEMS.  285 

Loved  hearts  ere  thine  ?     Nay,  nay,  if  life  be  full, 
As  thou  wouldst  deem  it,  of  o'erwhelming  woes, 
'Twould  seem  a  kindness,  that  his  iron  hand 
Should  snatch  us  from  them. 

Carlos.  Kindness,  sure, — to  leave 

In  solitude  of  anguish,  those  that  weep 
A  portion  of  their  better  being  gone — 
To  burst,  at  brightest  and  most  festive  hours, 
Into  the  glowing  chambers  of  the  breast, 
And  leave  them  cold  and  tenantless  !     Nay  more 
And  worse — while,  thus,  the  good  and  true 
Are,  like  the  topmost  flowers,  the  first  that  fade, 
Are  there  not  left  enough,  of  these  with  whom 
Communion  would  bring  loathing,  to  be  round 
Our  troubled  way — and  ever  some,  to  whom 
The  tendrils  of  our  hope  have  learned  to  cling 
But  to  be  blasted  ?     Kindness  this,  that  makes 
Death  and  the  terrible  dark  doubts  beyond 
Come  welcome  as  his  slumbers  to  the  slave  ! 

Antonio.     I'll  not  dispute  with  thee,  that  life  is  all 
One  day  of  sunshine.     It  hath  clouds,  as  hath 
The  fairest  child  of  summer,  but  why  make  it 
E'en  worse  than  winter,  ceaseless  in  its  storms  ? 
If  thou  wouldst  live  for  happiness,  then  turn 
Thine  eye  upon  life's  brightness,  as  the  gaze 
Of  the  proud  eagle  ever  seeks  the  sun, 
Nor  heeds  the  mists  that  flit  before  his  wing. 
I  will  not  mind  thee  of  the  threads  of  gold 
37 


286  POEMS. 

Fate  yet  might  spin  thee,  were  her  rolling  wheel 

Urged  on  with  hopeful  hand.     Yet — answer  me  ! 

In  youth's  untroubled  spring-time,  even  when 

The  storms  of  manhood's  summer  rolled  about  thee — 

Hadst  then  not  those — nay,  shrink  not — was  there  one 

The  unyielding  marble  of  whose  truth  did  speak 

Heaven's  music  to  thy  love,  as  Memnon's  lips 

Blushed  into  harmony  at  morning's  gaze  ? 

Say  this  is  past — yet  has  thy  heart  forgot 

The  bliss  that  warmed  it  then  ?     E'en  now,  its  glow 

Gives  mem'ry  life ! 

Carlos.  True,  true  ! — Behold  enough 

To  make  thee  weep  the  folly  of  thy  frowns — 
To  wipe  away  the  blot  which  pain  hath  thrown 
On  life's  succeeding  page  !     A  single  star, 
Seen  though  it  be  far  as  the  walls  of  Heaven, 
Will  make  night  beautiful  to  him  whose  eye 
Looks  out  for  beauty  !     One  remembered  joy, 
How  will  it  turn  a  wilderness  to  bloom  ! 

'  'arlos.     Alas,  Antonio,  there  is  little  cure 
In  memory.     'Tis  but  an  ancient  lute 
Whose  strings  are  broken,  or,  unbroken,  yield 
How  poor  a  melody  for  that  which  erst 
Rang  thrilling  o'er  them.     I  have  turned  to  fame, 
To  wealth  and  power  and  beauty,  but  I  have 
Grown  old  vain-seeking  happiness,  and  all 
Comes  with  an  empty  sound  upon  mine  ear. 
And  for  the  dreams — the  phantoms — memory  raises — 


POEMS.  287 

So  cold,  so  fleshlcss  arc  they,  and  each  points 
Its  Parthian  arrow  with  so  dread  an  aim — 
God  grant  there  were  no  seer  to  bid  them  rise  ! 

Antonio.    Has  Heaven  not  made  thec  with  a  mind  that,  firm 
In  its  unbending  reason,  dares  to  soar 
Above  the  trembling  empire  of  the  heart  ? 
Art  thou  so  weak,  that  every  woe  will  bend 
Thy  spirit  as  the  breezes  toss  the  light 
And  pensile  willow  ?     Thou,  who  art  a  man, 
Shouldst  wear  thy  manhood  as  a  hardness  round  thee, 
And  smile  at  sorrow,  as  at  outward  harm  ! 

Carlos.     Why  call'st  thou  me  a  man,  and  yet  wouldst  have 
Me  fling  my  nature,  callous,  in  the  dust, 
And  bear  me,  as  the  brute,  whom  God  hath  made 
Unreasoning,  unfeeling,  void  of  all 
That  is  humanity's  best  grace  ?     For  me, 
The  thing  that  thou  wouldst  call  philosopher 
Is  but  a  brute  of  his  own  making — worse — 
In  that  he  hath  vain  speech  to  boast  him  of 
His  brutish  art,  and  pride,  to  let  me  know 
How  one  made  with  some  sparks  of  Heaven  within  him 
Hath  striven  to  be,  altogether,  clay  ! 

Antonio.     This  is  thy  nature's  weakness,  not  its  strength, 
Its  godlike  portion — that  thou  shouldst  fall  down 
Before  thy  sorrows,  as  the  traveller  falls, 
In  the  far  Eastern  desert,  when  the  wild 
Sand-cloud  flits  fire-winged  o'er  him.     There  are  springs 


288  POEMS. 

Where  life's  sad  pilgrims  in  its  saddest  wilds 

May  pause,  and  rest,  and  drink.     To  me,  as  thee, 

Life  hath  not  been  a  garden  all  of  flowers, 

But  curst  with  weeds  enough ;  yet  I  adore 

Deeply,  though  darkly,  Him  whose  master-hand 

Hath  framed  the  chequered  fabric  of  our  fate  ! 

And  though,  in  everything,  this  tear-dimmed  eye 

See  not  His  wisdom  nor  His  goodness  shine, 

Yet,  of  their  Heaven-blent  union,  everywhere, 

One  instant  doubt  I  not.     I  cannot  curb 

The  thoughts  that  spring  within  me,  yet  I  feel, 

And  trust,  and  hear — as  thou  canst  do,  my  Lord, 

If  that  thou  wilt — till  silent  suffering  yields 

A  harvest  of  most  unrepining  peace. 

Go  see  the  wild — once  desert,  blooming  now — 

Where,  in  thy  memory,  desolation  sat, 

A  voiceless  queen  !     Some  solitary  bird 

Upon  its  barren  bosom  did  let  fall 

The  seed  of  bright  flowers,  from  her  passing  beak- 

Now  all  is  beautiful,  where  all  was  waste  ! 

So  time  will  scatter  fruit  and  fragrance  o'er 

The  wildest  solitude  of  heart — and  thus, 

As  violets  spread  their  perfume  by  our  graves, 

Will  there  spring  up  a  sweetness  from  thy  woe, 

Will  turn  it  half  to  happiness. 


POEMS.  289 


CHRISTMAS. 


On  the  Swiss  mountains,  when  I  wandered  there, 

In  the  wild,  awful  passes,  all  alone, 
A  little  cross  of  iron,  cold  and  bare, 

Rose,  oft,  before  me,  from  some  wayside  stone. 
Strange,  uncouth  names  they  bore — a  holy  sign 

Traced  by  rude  hands  upon  a  rustic  scroll, 
And,  blotted  by  the  snows,  a  piteous  line, 

Begging  our  prayers  for  the  poor  sleeper's  soul. 

Some  traveller  it  was,  perchance,  whose  doom 

The  torrent  or  the  avalanche  had  sped ; 
Mayhap  was  buried  there  some  peasant,  whom 

The  hunted  chamois  o'er  the  cliff  had  led. 
His  simple  thoughts  had  never  crossed  the  sea, 

From  whose  far  borders  to  his  grave  I  came, 
Yet,  as  a  brother,  called  he  unto  me, 

And  my  heart's  echo  gave  him  back  the  name ! 

Peace  to  thy  spirit,  Brother  !     I  had  felt 

The  quick'ning  of  the  blood  that  wanderers  feel, 
At  thought  of  home  and  country.     I  had  knelt 

At  altars  where  the  nations  came  to  kneel — 
But  knew  I  never,  in  its  depth,  till  when 

Thy  lonely  shrine  besought  me  for  my  prayer, 
The  sense  of  kindred  with  all  sons  of  men — 

One  love,  one  hope,  God's  pity  everywhere  ! 


290  POEMS. 

And  so  thy  scroll,  thou  gentle  Christmas-tide, 

Reared  on  the  cross,  high  o'er  the  wastes  of  time, 
Speaks  to  earth's  pilgrims,  in  His  name  who  died, 

Good  will  and  peace  and  brotherhood  sublime ! 
And,  unto  them  that  hail  thee,  chiefly  worth 

Are  the  glad  wreaths  thou  twiuest  round  the  year, 
For  that  thou  bidd'st  our  kindled  hearts  go  forth, 

Wherever  love  can  warm  or  kindness  cheer. 

Up  the  bleak  heights  of  daily  toil  we  press, 

Too  busy,  with  our  journey  and  our  load, 
To  heed  the  hurried  grasp,  the  brief  caress, 

The  brother  fainting  on  that  weary  road. 
Then,  welcome  be  the  hours  and  thoughts  and  things, 

That  win  us  from  ourselves,  a  little  while, 
To  that  sweet  human  fellowship,  which  brings 

The  only  human  joy  unstained  of  guile  ! 


CHRISTMAS— 1851. 


As,  o'er  Judea's  lonely  world, 
The  Magi  bore  their  gifts  of  gold 

To  Bethlehem,  from  afar, 
Above  the  midnight  path,  there  shone 
Slow-guiding  to  the  manger,  on, 

A  dim  receding  star  ! 


POEMS.  291 

There  came,  that  night,  no  starry  ray 
To  where  the  watching  shepherds  lay, 

But  unto  them  was  given, 
With  brow  of  light,  and  accents  mild, 
To  tell  them  of  the  new-born  child, 

A  messenger  from  Heaven  ! 

'Twas  strange  that  tidings,  uttered  then, 
Alike  for  all  the  sons  of  men, 

Should  take  such  varying  guise  : 
Here — music  on  an  angel's  tongue — 
And  there — the  midnight  clouds  among, 

Star-written  on  the  skies  ! 

Without  the  star-taught  wizard's  lore, 
Without  the  gold  and  gems  he  bore, 

'Tis  mine,  alas  !  to  see 
Few,  pale,  and  sad  the  distant  rays, 
The  only  guides  to  better  days, 

Sent  down  from  Heaven  to  me ! 

Too  far  and  cold  to  lead  or  bless, 
Too  few  to  light  the  wilderness 

O'er  which  my  path  has  lain — 
They  fade,  like  lamps  that,  waning,  keep 
The  watches  of  a  sick  man's  sleep, 

Who  only  wakes  to  pain  ! 

And,  if  an  angel's  form  hath  cast 
A  glory  round  me,  as  it  passed, 


292  POEMS. 

And,  ere  it  soared  away, 
I've  sprung  to  catch  its  raiment  bright, 
I  have  but  clutched  the  pall  of  night — 

The  Seraph  would  not  stay  ! 

Would  God  !  Would  God  !  that  I  could  fail 
To  read,  in  Bethlehem's  holy  tale, 

The  sorrow  that  it  brings — 
I  would  not  make  my  star  so  dim, 
And  joyfully  would  catch  the  hymn 

That  any  angel  sings  ! 


CHRISTMAS  EVE  AT  SEA. 


'Tis  not  thy  wont,  sweet  festive  Eve, 
To  come,  with  sunshine  on  thy  brow ; 

For  frozen  hands  thy  raiment  weave, 

And  bind  thy  greenest  wreaths  with  snow. 

Yet  never,  in  thy  chillest  guise, 
So  cheerless  hast  thou  been  to  me, 

As  now,  that  I  behold  thee  rise, 
Here,  on  the  wild  and  lonely  sea. 

Yet,  though  more  dark  the  frowning  sky 
Should  hang  upon  the  solemn  deep — 

Though  wildest  were  the  revelry 

The  rushing  blasts  of  winter  keep — 


POEMS.  293 

All  heedless  still,  of  wave  and  storm, 

The  pilgrim's  heart  would  beat  full  high, 

If,  of  the  host  he  loves,  one  form, 

One  heart,  one  hand,  one  smile,  were  nigh. 

Bring  him  the  hearth  around  whose  blaze 
His  household  gods  give  back  the  light ; 

Breathe  in  his  ear  the  mirth  that  plays 
In  happy  echoes,  there,  to-night. 

Show  him  the  haunts  where  two  or  three 

The  festive  midnight  meet  to  bless ; 
The  quiet  chambers,  where  there  be 

Dreams  of  the  wanderer's  caress ; 

And  into  stars,  the  night  that's  o'er 
His  lonely  watchiugs,  shall  be  turned, 

And  thy  sweet  incense,  as  of  yore, 
E'en  on  the  billows  shall  be  burned. 

Alas  !  though  summoned  by  thine  art, 

Around  me,  for  brief  moments,  come 
Visions  so  life-like  that  I  start, 

And  wonder  if  it  be  not  home. 

'Tis  vain  !  all  vain  !  for  round  me  roll 

The  self-same  solemn  waters,  still, 
The  same  sad  skies  brood  o'er  my  soul, 

The  same  wild  breezes  mock  my  will  ! 

38 


294  POEMS. 

Yet,  thou  art  welcome  !  for  there  grow 

Such  blooming  memories  round  thine  hours, 

That  dark  must  be  the  wave  of  woe 
Thy  coming  cannot  crest  with  flowers. 

And  so,  I  bless  thee,  for  the  Past, 

Whose  brightest  moments  have  been  thine, 

From  childhood's  playthings,  to  the  last 
Warm  pledges  in  the  Christmas  wine  ! 

And  still  more  fondly  will  I  greet 
Thy  next  glad  coming,  if  that  then 

The  pilgrim's  sandals  shall  be  off  my  feet 
The  staff  laid  down,  and  I  at  home  again  ! 


TO    AN    INFANT. 


"THE  LOUD  GAVE." 

Thou  hast  been  born  to  breathe  a  softer  air 

Than  Fate  e'er  won,  from  kindest  skies,  for  me, 

And,  were  there  blessings  waiting  on  my  prayer, 
God  hath  no  angel  but  should  bend  o'er  thee ! 

But  there's  a  heart,  quick  beating,  by  thy  side, 
Whose  very  pulse  is  worship.  Night  and  day, 

Unconscious,  from  its  throbbing,  upward  glide 
Wishes  too  pure  for  Heaven  to  turn  away. 


POEMS.  295 

No  vows  on  high  then  need's!  thou  for  thy  weal, 
Nor  in  this  lower  world  a  shield.     Thy  life 

Hath  only  love  to  wait  on  it.     The  wheel 
That,  for  the  most  of  us,  o'er  toil  and  strife 

Rolls  its  sad  round,  for  thee  can  scarcely  turn 

From  good,  except  to  better.     For  the  sake 
Of  her  who  bore  thee,  many  a  heart  will  yearn, 
Though  thou  shalt  know  it  not,  from  thee  to  take 

Thy  burden  and  to  bear  it.     For  the  love 
Of  him  thou  shalt  call  father,  many  a  hand 

The  stones  and  thorns  from  out  thy  path  shall  move, 
And  hopes,  like  sentinels,  shall  round  it  stand. 

Joy  be  thy  welcome  then  !  and — for  the  woes 

That,  on  the  best  beloved  and  the  best, 
Fall — when  and  wherefore  not  the  wisest  knows, 

Nor,  knowing,  could  overmaster — let  them  rest 

Until  their  hour  shall  come.     The  cup  of  earth 
Hath  not  pearls  melted,  alway,  in  its  wine ; 

And  happier,  thou,  than  child  of  mortal  birth, 
If  bitterness  be  not  the  most  of  thine. 

But  that  thou  cau'st  not  rule.     It  is  for  Fate 
To  mix  the  draught — we  quaff  it,  as  we  can. 

Drink  of  it,  humbly,  if  she  pledge  thee  great ; 
But,  great  or  humble — drain  it  like  a  man  ! 


296  POEMS. 


"AND  THE  LORD  HATH  TAKEN  AWAY." 

I  turn  the  vacant  pages  o'er  and  o'er, 

And  fain  would  read  them,  but  my  eyes  grow  dim, 
And  thought  and  heavy  heart  go  back  to  him 

So  wearily,  that  I  can  strive  no  more. 

I  see  him  now,  as  when  he  climbed  my  knee, 

But  yesternight,  and  round  me  played  and  clung 
I  hear  the  little  busy  merry  tongue 

Lisping  the  winsome  music  of  his  glee ; 

And,  as  a  garden  sunbeam,  dewy-bright, 

I  feel  the  glow  upon  me,  of  the  smile 

That  kissed  his  innocent  sweet  lips,  the  while 

He  bade  me,  as  he  went,  his  glad  Good  Night ! 

Was  it  forever  ?     When  the  shadows  fall 

To-morrow  and  to-morrow — desolate 
Around  the  silent  hearth-stone  shall  we  wait, 

Vain  listening  his  light  footstep  in  the  hall  ? 

From  out  the  midnight  voices  seem  to  say 

Life's  star  was  setting  when  it  seemed  to  rise, 
And  what  we  thought  its  brightness  in  the  skies 

Was  but  its  blending  with  the  perfect  day  ! 

When  thou  didst  come  among  us,  all  unknown, 

I  gave  thee  welcome  for  thy  parents'  sake, 

Nor  dreamed,  fair  child  !  how  soon  there  should  awake 

Longings  and  griefs  within  me  for  thine  own. 


POEMS.  297 

Yet,  as,  from  day  to  clay,  their  opening  flowers 

Beauty  and  hope  about  thy  brow  entwined, 
And,  from  the  roseate  dawning  of  thy  mind, 

Love  walked  with  thought  adown  the  kindling  hours, 

Till  every  grace  I  saw  upon  thee  grow 

Was  so  made  up  with  tenderness  and  mirth, 
So  full  of  joy  and  gentleness,  that  earth 

Knew  not  its  part  in  thee,  'twas  brightened  so — 

I  could  but  bless  thee.  Hearts  unfilled  will  crave 
The  bliss  they  may  not  covet,  and  the  grief 
Is  mine,  not  borrowed,  now,  that  span  so  brief 

Was  all  betwixt  thy  cradle  and  thy  grave. 

Good  Night,  my  gentle  boy  !     No  dream  of  pain 
Or  sin  or  haunting  sorrow  waits  on  thee — 
Thou  art  set  free  from  thy  captivity, 

Without  one  memory  of  its  broken  chain. 

Good  Night,  and  to  thy  rest !     There  will  be  tears 

Shed  over  the  first-born,  and  there  will  cleave 
Unto  the  bruised  hearts  thou  seem'st  to  leave, 

The  anguish  of  the  love  that  bleeds  and  bears. 

But  yet  not  always.     In  their  lonely  home 

Tidings  shall  be,  as  from  the  dead  that  sleep ; 
And  a  child's  whisper,  when  they  else  would  weep, 

Shall  breathe  the  message — "  Suffer  him  to  come  ! " 


298  POEMS. 


MEMNON. 


When  soft,  on  Memnou's  lips,  of  old, 

The  sunset's  fading  glory  fell, 
Though  answering  music  from  them  rolled, 

'Twas  but  the  sighing  of  farewell : 
If  ever  from  the  radiant  stone 

The  notes  of  love  and  rapture  broke, 
'Twas  morning's  blessed  beam  alone, 

The  wild,  impassioned  song  that  woke. 

Though  'tis  not  mine,  as  yet,  to  know 

The  dimness  of  the  waning  day, 
Nor  quite  forgotten  is  the  glow 

That  purpled  o'er  my  morning  way, 
Yet,  even  when  my  soul  is  stirred 

By  what  were  ecstasy  before, 
The  calmer  hope  and  colder  word 

Now  catch  the  olden  flush  no  more. 

'Tis  strange — it  may  be  sad  to  see, 

And  'tis,  to  feel — I  know  not  why — 
There  were  no  beauty  on  the  lea, 

Were  there  no  changes  in  the  sky  ; 
And  though  my  heart,  like  Memnon's  tongue, 

Wakes  not  at  noon  its  morning  strain, 
There's  music  in  it,  yet  unsung, 

Will  greet  the  light  it  loves  again ! 


POEMS.  299 


GOD'S  ACRE— FRIEDHOF. 


Though  I  may  long  and  hope,  nay,  fondly  trust — 
Yet  know  I  not  that  Heaven  will  deign  to  keep, 

Round  the  sin-tainted  field  of  human  dust, 
Merciful  watchiugs  over  all  that  sleep. 

Nor  know  I  when  the  waking  hour  shall  be, 
Nor  what  shall  dazzle  the  rekindled  eye, 

When  the  rent  veil  of  the  grave's  mystery 
Hideth  no  more  the  life  that  may  not  die. 

But,  humbly,  this  at  least,  meseems  I  know, 
That,  when  the  clod  shall  lie  upon  my  breast, 

Though  there  be  lonely  truce  to  joy  and  woe, 
Yet,  lacking  both,  I  still  shall  be  at  rest. 

Then,  by  the  lowlier  name  be  mine  to  call 

The  silent  spot  where  toil  and  yearning  cease ; 

I  pray  it  be  God's  Acre  unto  all, 

Blest,  if  to  me  it  be  the  Vale  of  Peace  ! 


STARLIGHT. 

Glad  watching  his,  who,  when  he  turns 
Unto  the  kindled  lights  of  even, 

By  every  star  that  o'er  him  burns 
Sees  but  a  nearer  path  to  Heaven  ! 


300  POEMS. 

Poor  dweller  in  the  valley,  he 

To  whom  the  midnight  tells  no  story, 

Save  of  dark  distances  that  be 

Betwixt  him  and  its  fields  of  glory  ! 

Ah  !  blessed  orbs  !  shall  I  not  gaze, 
Some  time,  upon  the  blue  above  me, 

And  catching  in  your  dewy  rays 

The  tenderness  of  eyes  that  love  me, 

Feel  that  the  skies  are  near  indeed, 

When  creatures  good  and  bright  beside  us, 

Part  of  the  Heaven  to  which  they  lead, 
Will  share  it  with  us,  as  they  guide  us  ! 


QUO   FATA   TRAHUNT. 


Have  I  not  flung  away  already  more 

Of  hope,  and  love,  and  anxious  heart,  and  peace, 
On  thought  of  others — ten  times  o'er  and  o'er — 

Than  I  have  left  ?    And  should  not  such  things  cease  ? 

Oh  !  God  that  made  me  !  wherefore  formed  was  I, 
So  full  of  things  opposed,  so  clear  to  see 

Behind  each  folly,  pain,  its  shadow,  lie, 

Yet  sure  to  walk  just  where  the  shadows  be? 

Who  hath  had  teachings  more  than  I  have  had  ? 

Who,  for  such  lessons,  hath  a  sense  more  keen  ? 
Who  hath  had  more  of  grief  from  what  was  sad, 

Or  turned,  more  fated,  back  to  what  had  been  ? 


POEMS.  301 

Is  it  my  sin,  or  shame,  that  I  do  tread, 

In  spite  of  knowledge,  paths  of  pain  foregone  ? 

Or  hath  some  judgment  fallen  on  my  head, 
That  I  shall  see,  and  know,  and  yet  go  on  ? 


FOR  AN   ALBUM. 


The  fairy  scene  the  painter's  hand 

Here  spreads  before  the  eye, 
Speaks  loudly  to  us  of  the  land 

Where  life's  strange  travels  lie. 

Here,  coldly  see  the  hill-top  gleam 
Where  fame  and  fortune  climb ; 

There,  humbly  sings  the  glowing  stream 
Its  lowly,  cheerful  chime  ! 

The  woodland  king,  here,  spreads  his  arms, 

In  pride  of  leafy  power, 
And  there,  as  lifelike,  blush  the  charms 

Of  yonder  peasant  flower. 

And  mark  ye  not  what  o'er  them  throws 

The  joyous  smile  they  wear, 
Without  whose  kissing,  tree  and  rose 

Would  vainly  woo  the  air  ? 
39 


302  POEMS. 

It  is  the  glorious  sunlight's  ray 
That  blesses  wood  and  cloud, 

The  streamlet  near,  and,  far  away 
Hallows  the  mountain  proud  ! 

So  rays  there  are,  without  whose  glow, 

The  field  of  human  fate, 
Alike  its  hills,  and  valleys  low 

Are  cold,  sad,  desolate. 

It  is  the  sunshine  of  the  heart, 
And  he,  who  reads  aright, 

Will  find  this  holy  lesson  start 
From  every  flash  of  light. 

Treasures  are  wealth  and  wit  and  power, 

And  beauty  and  renown  ; 
In  wisdom's  scale,  one  heart-warm  hour 

Would  weigh  a  worldful  down  ! 


FOR  AN  ALBUM. 


Behold  !  where,  borne  on  gilded  wing, 
Yon  fair  and  fluttering  insect  thing 

Flies  to  the  open  flow'r ; 
Blind  to  the  future  as  the  past, 
Resolved,  while  sweets  and  sunshine  last, 

To  revel  through  its  hour. 


POEMS.  303 


'Tis  not  for  me,  the  moral  old, 
By  saints  and  sages  better  told, 

From  this  poor  insect's  lot  ; 
How  that,  with  all  its  purple  gone, 
The  beauty  which  at  morning  shone, 

At  even-tide  is  not. 

With  gayer  faith,  the  poet  deems 
It  is  not  ill,  to  love  our  dreams 

Of  brightness  and  of  bloom — 
That  blossoms  would  not  hang  so  fair, 
That  fragrance  would  not  load  the  air, 

Were  life  all  meant  for  gloom  ! 

So  too,  he  thinks  yon  silly  fly 
May  not,  all  useless,  flutter  by 

To  those  who  see  aright ; 
And  that  a  life  amid  the  flowers, 
May,  longer  than  the  moth's,  be  ours, 

More  happy,  not  less  bright ! 

It  is — that  through  our  live-long  day, 
We  should,  unyielding,  wing  our  way, 

By  no  false  brightness  led, 
And  only  give  our  pinions  rest, 
When  lighted  on  the  fragrant  breast 

Of  buds  from  pure  earth  fed. 

Not  dazzling  here  and  flitting  there, 
Our  pride  to  glisten  everywhere, 

Mid  noon-day's  gaudy  crowd ; 


304  POEMS. 

But  ever  seeking  fresh  to  sip 
The  dew  whose  sweets  will  cool  the  lip, 
Alike  in  glare  and  cloud. 

The  insect  on  our  page  must  die, 
Because  the  bud  he  flutters  nigh 

Is  cut  from  parent  bough  ! 
And  though  its  painted  bosom  gleam, 
In  spite  of  nature's  brightest  beam, 

The  blight  is  on  it  now  ! 

Then  let  us  ne'er  life's  blossoms  prize, 
Because  their  beauty  lures  our  eyes ; 

But  rather  be  our  art, 
To  tend  alone  the  flow'rs  that  blow 
On  healthful  stems  that  greenly  glow, 

Unsevered  from  the  heart ! 


DEJECTION. 


Oh  God  !  to  see  the  swelling  stream 
Of  happiness  roll  on — 

To  count  the  blessed  barks,  that  gleam 

In  morning's  flush  and  evening's  beam, 
Each  on  its  journey  gone  ; 

And  feel  that,  by  the  lonely  shore, 
Mine  creeps,  a  laggard,  still, 


POEMS.  305 

While  not  a  breeze  that  blew  of  yore 
Comes  back,  with  freshness,  as  before, 
Its  drooping  sails  to  fill  ! 

Oh  say  not  to  me,  to  deride, 

That,  of  that  better  day, 
In  waste,  in  passion,  or  in  pride, 
Unmindful  of  the  fleeting  tide, 

I  flung  the  hours  away  ! 
Not  mine  the  weakness  or  the  sin 

Of  golden  chances  spurned — 
To  toil  and  hope  is  not  to  win ; 
We  end  not  all  that  we  begin, 

Nor  gather  all  we've  earned  ! 

There's  not  a  poisoned  seed  we  sow, 

Of  folly  or  of  crime, 
But,  surely,  will  to  rankness  grow, 
And  bear  its  certain  fruit  of  woe, 

In  its  appointed  time  : 
But,  from  the  germs  of  better  things 

We  planted  in  our  youth, 
How  few  the  flowers  that  Summer  flings, 
How  rare  the  fruit  that  Autumn  brings, 

To  bless  our  trust  and  truth  ! 

Men  hold  it  ill,  at  Fate  to  rail, 

When  all  is  ruled  by  Heaven ; 
But  when,  e'en  at  our  best,  we  fail, 
And,  trim  we  as  we  will  our  sail, 

On  rocks  and  shoals  we're  driven — 


306  POEMS. 

Though  we  may  feel  'tis  Heaven's  high  plan, 

And  bend  beneath  our  lot, 
Yet,  if  we  be  no  more  than  man, 
Resigned  we  may  be,  if  we  can, 
Contented  we  are  not ! 


TO  A  FRIEND. 


Oh  !  say  not  that  the  hearts  we  leave 

Are  but  a  transient  home, 
Or  that  to  them  our  memories 
Will,  but  as  shadows,  come ; 
Nor  tell  me,  tears  for  broken  ties 
Shall  always  dim  the  mindful  eyes 

Of  those  who  loved  us  here  ; 
Nor  that  oblivion's  chaunt  should  be 
Our  requiem  for  eternity, 

Lest  hate,  rememb'ring,  sneer. 

Small  need  there  is,  I  own,  to  try 
The  human  hearts  we  have, 

Their  tenderness  aud  truth,  upon 
The  touchstone  of  the  grave  ! 

Falsehood  but  mocks  us,  if  she  pass 

Before  our  pallid  lips  the  glass, 

To  watch  if  breath  be  there; 


POEMS.  307 

When,  of  the  years  that  blithest  roll, 
Each  writes  some  record  on  the  soul 
Of  vows  that  turned  to  air ! 

Yet,  such  things  are,  as  faith  and  truth, 

And  hearts  wherein  they  dwell — 
And,  if  the  living  love  such  homes, 

Why  not  the  dead  as  well  ? 
If  sin  and  woe  no  cloud  can  throw 
On  living  love's  unchanging  brow, 

Why  need  it  be  o'ercast 
When  we  can  wound  and  vex  no  more, 
And  time  and  death  have  mantled  o'er, 
All  but  the  bright  things  past  ? 

The  grief  that  awful  parting  wakes 

Shall  not  for  e'er  abide ; 
But  'tis  not  those  who  most  forget, 

Whose  tears  are  soonest  dried. 
The  tenderest  heart  is  oft'nest  glad : 
Fond  memory,  not  forever  sad, 

May  muse,  yet  wear  no  frown  : 
Love  passeth  not  away,  with  pain — 
The  dew  may  fade,  yet  still  remain 

The  Heaven  that  sent  it  down  ! 

No  transient  home  is  that,  which  love 

Makes  holy  with  its  ray  ; 
Life's  bounded  moments  are  not  all 

That  measure  memory's  day  ! 


308  POEMS. 


There  is  a  sphere  above  the  sun, 
Where  noon  and  night  unsevered  run, 

And  darkness  never  lowers  ; 
There,  with  no  shadow  on  its  face, 
Save  that  eternal  day-beams  trace, 

Love's  dial  counts  its  hours  ! 

Then  let  me  live,  if  live  I  may, 

In  hearts  I  leave  behind — 
And,  if  I  may  not  fill  the  heart, 

Oh  let  me  fill  the  mind  ! 
If  love  be  mine,  I  ask  not  praise : 
If  love  must  die,  then  let  me  raise 
Some  stone  to  bear  my  name 
So  high  above  oblivion's  hand, 
That  even  they  who  sneering  stand, 
Shall  feel  and  own  'tis  fame  ! 

Vain  words  !  Ambition's  idle  dreams 

And  hopes  have  fleeted  by, 
And  time  hath  taught  that  glory's  light 

Shines  not  for  such  as  I ! 
But  welcome  is  the  nameless  lot, 
If  kindly  thoughts  forsake  it  not ; 

And  blest  th'  inglorious  doom, 
If  but  the  few  whose  smiles  I  knew, 
With  olden  memories  bestrew 

The  else-forgotten  tomb ! 


POEMS.  309 


TO   THE  SAME. 

Live  we  in  the  present  ever  ? 

Rules  the  Spring  the  tides  of  time  ? 
Must  our  life  be  one  endeavor 
To  persuade  ourselves  that  never 

Shall  joy  end  beyond  its  prime? 

Though  the  past  leaves  many  a  token 
That  fond  hoping  may  be  vain, 

And  the  words  we've  heard  and  spoken, 

And  the  idols  we  have  broken, 

May  not  come  to  us  again, 

Yet,  to  doubt  shall  not  restore  us 

Thought  or  feeling  doomed  to  die ; 

And  to  dread  to  look  before  us, 

Lest  a  cloud,  unseen,  be  o'er  us, 
Is  a  treason  to  the  sky. 

To  be  trembling  o'er  affections, 

When  they  cluster  thick  and  kind, 
Greeting  them  with  cold  reflections, 
On  the  chance  of  indirections, 

Is  to  love  with  but  the  mind  ! 

Every  season  a  new  glory 

To  the  poet-heart  will  bring ; 
And  it  is  not  true,  the  story 
40 


310  POEMS. 

That  all  good  is  transitory, 

Like  the  gladness  of  the  Spring. 

Then  our  fancies  are  unruly 

When  they  whisper  "  Change  is  near  ! " 
And  we  live  not  well  or  truly, 
But  we  scan  our  joys  unduly, 

If  we  greet  them  but  in  fear. 

Neither  man  nor  earth  should  sorrow 

That  the  flowers  must  pass  away ; 

For  the  year  will  surely  borrow 

Golden  harvests  for  to-morrow, 

From  the  seed-time  of  to-day  ! 


TO   A  FRIEND. 


We  may  have  bliss,  in  after  days, 

For  life  hath  often  plenty, 
And  joy  hath  just  begun  its  blaze 

When  we  are  one-and-twenty. 

But  with  its  joy,  life  brings  its  care — 
Bright  suns  go  down  in  sorrow ; 

The  brow  that's  glad  to-day,  may  wear 
A  veil  of  woe  to-morrow. 


POEMS.  311 

The  hands  that  grasp,  the  lips  that  smile, 

In  after  days  deceive  us ; 
And  many  a  web  of  darkest  wile 

The  best  beloved  may  weave  us. 

Then,  let  us  bid  old  Memory  fling 

Her  robe  of  jewels  o'er  us  ; 
Let's  pledge  our  life's  unclouded  spring 

With  all  the  flowers  it  bore  us. 

Dream  of  the  chase  at  break  of  day 

Along  the  laurelled  mountain, 
And  bless  the  moments  when  we  lay 

Cool  by  the  noon-tide  fountain. 

Let's  think  of  when  we  watch'd  the  sun 

Go  down  in  golden  glory, 
And  how  the  moonlight's  magic  won 

Our  hearts  to  song  and  story  ! 

The  feast,  by  sportive  toil  made  sweet, 

Shall  spread  itself  before  us, 
And  fancy  twine  each  sylvan  seat 

With  the  old  boughs  bending  o'er  us. 

But  most,  when  Memory  backward  throws 

Her  glances,  may  she  guide  us, 
Unchanged,  unchanging,  back  to  those 

Whose  hearts  then  beat  beside  us ! 


312  POEMS. 


They  happier  made  each  happy  day, 
And  shall  we  not  remember 

The  friends  who  cheered  our  sunny  May, 
E'en  in  our  bleak  December? 


NO  MORE! 


A  child  was  born,  as  midnight's  clang 

Upon  the  heavy  silence  fell, 
And  round  the  chamber  voices  rang 

More  solemn  than  that  awful  bell : 
One  only  burden,  sad,  they  bore — 
"  No  more !  no  more ! " 

The  tears  on  childhood's  cheek  are  dry, 

For  those  who  watched  life's  opening  flower, 

And  brightly  gleams,  in  youth's  wild  eye, 
The  sunlight  of  hope's  reigning  hour. 

Clouds  come — change — parting — as  before, 
Life  shines  no  more ! 

Bend  yonder  gentle  bough  aside, 

And  look  ye,  where,  iu  saddened  grove, 

Lips  beautiful  in  scorn,  deride 

The  humble  vow !     The  beam  of  love 

That  gilded  life's  cold  mountains  o'er, 
Hath  gold  no  more ! 


POEMS.  313 


See  where  the  world-worn  man,  alone, 
At  tearful  eve,  from  crowd  and  strife 

Unto  his  silent  hearth  hath  gone, 
And  poiseth  there  the  scales  of  life  ! 

The  blossoms  of  the  time  of  yore, 
Now  bloom  no  more! 

And  to  that  thoughtful  hour  he  brings 
The  memories  of  yearnings  past ; 

He  hears  Ambition's  failing  wings, 
Receding,  beat  the  distant  blast ; 

And,  high,  the  tempest's  echoes  o'er, 
Still  rings — "no  more!" 

Ay,  gather  up  the  hope,  the  joy, 

The  love,  the  friendships,  all  that  gave 

Green  paths  before  him  to  the  boy, 

And  sparkling  crest  to  manhood's  wave, 

While  they  and  all  the  bliss  they  bore 
Return  no  more! 

Go  seek  !  ah,  no — why  seek  the  woe 
That  feelings  wrung  have  always  nigh  ? 

Go  crop  the  bitter  weeds  that  grow 

Each  blasted  hope's  cold  gravestone  by, 

And  mark  how  sorrow's  withered  store 
Grows  evermore ! 

Yet,  though  'tis  true  the  forms  we  love 
Cannot  be  always  by  our  side, 


314  POEMS. 

And,  as  along  the  beach  we  rove, 

Where  ebbs  and  flows  life's  restless  tide, 
We  see  glad  barks  that  leave  the  shore 
Come  back  no  more ! 

Still,  let  us  feel  that  though,  awhile, 

Sweet  hours,  sweet  friends  sail  down  the  stream, 

There  is  a  far  but  joyous  isle 

Where  turns  to  truth  hope's  wildest  dream, 

And,  reaching  those  who  went  before, 
We  part  no  more ! 

Thus  thought  the  failing,  gray-haired  man, 
And  dropped  his  staff,  one  autumn  day ; 

Joy  flashed  across  his  visage  wan, 
As  those  old  voices,  now  grown  gay, 

This  altered  burden  chanted  o'er  : 
"  Sorrow  no  more ! " 


THE   CURFEW. 


Ah  why,  when  life's  dim  eve  comes  on, 
Should  hearts,  once  warm,  grow  cold  ? 

And  why  should  sighs  for  feeliugs  gone, 
Make  up  our  breath  when  old  ? 


POEMS.  315 


'Tis  true,  the  happy  light  that  fell 
On  board  and  hearth,  of  yore, 

Went  out  when  evening's  tyrant  bell, 
The  Curfew's  warning  bore. 

But  oh  !  it  is  not  thus  the  heart 
Should  hear  the  voice  of  time ; 

Not  thus  its  cheerful  light  depart 
At  sound  of  evening's  chime  ! 

For  me,  kind  fate  !  forbid  that  e'er 

That  dismal  tocsin  toll, 
In  whose  sad  discord  I  shall  hear 

The  curfew  of  the  soul ! 


MIDNIGHT. 


Ah  !  now  at  last,  with  tears,  I  own 
Far  happier  were  our  lot, 

If  we  could  wander  on,  alone, 
Forgetting  and  forgot. 

The  thrill  of  joy  that  others  feel, 
When  full  our  blessings  flow — 

The  heart,  that  kindles  at  our  weal, 
And  saddens  in  our  woe — 


316  POEMS. 

The  fresh,  warm  glow  of  sympathy 

That  for  our  bliss  is  given, 
To  gild  our  clay-born  destiny 

With  radiance  lit  in  Heaven — 

All  these  may  teach — as  they  have  taught — 
That  as  life's  waves  we  press, 

The  blithest  bark  bounds  on  for  nought, 
That  sails  in  loneliness  ! 

But  yet,  to  feel  that  Fate  may  wind 
Our  thread  of  life  round  those 

Who  make  our  union  with  our  kind 
A  talisman  of  woes ; 

That  when,  before  our  gladdening  eyes, 
Life's  broadest  fields  grow  green, 

Another's  voice  may  bid  arise 
Some  blinding  mist  between  ; 

That  not  a  moment  may  fleet  on, 
Without  some  sound  of  sorrow ; 

Sad  yesterday's  prophetic  tone 
Suggesting  sad  to-morrow  ! 

And,  worse  than  all,  when  duty  stern 
Bids  the  wrung  heart  be  still, 

Though  memory  cannot  break  her  urn 
Nor  dry  its  bitter  rill : 


POEMS.  317 

When  love  has  ceased,  we  thought  would  flow 

Till  time  should  waste  its  wave, 
A  nd  trust 's  forgot,  that  should  not  know 

Oblivion  in  the  grave — 

These,  these  are  pains  not  all  the  bliss 

Of  sympathy  can  cure ; 
And  to  be  rid  of  life  like  this, 

What  might  we  not  endure  ? 

To  fly  from  these,  we  might  forego 

The  grasp — the  fond  embrace, 
And,  rather  than  this  madness  know, 

Know  never  Joy's  bright  face. 

Oh  God  !  Oh  God  !  let  not  thy  wrath 

So  cloud  my  vision  o'er, 
That  finding  midnight  round  my  path, 

I  look  for  light  no  more  ! 


THE   FOUNT. 


When  by  the  margin  of  the  stream, 
The  traveller  rests  him  on  his  way, 

'Tis  not  to  watch  the  dancing  beam, 
Or  catch  the  glitter  of  the  spray ; 
41 


318  POEMS. 

And  if,  unto  his  fainting  lip, 

The  fresh  bright  waters  cooling  bring, 

Why  should  he  pause  before  he  sip, 
Or  curse  it  for  a  worthless  thing  ? 

Or  why,  with  loathing,  should  he  start 
Because  there  's  earth  beneath  the  tide, 

When  all  the  life  that  warms  his  heart 
Is  the  same  clay,  scarce  purified  ? 

Oh  spurn  not  then  the  stream  of  love, 
Because  the  earth  looks  dark  below  ! 

Content  thee  with  the  skies  above, 

In  whose  warm  blaze  the  ripples  glow  ! 

And  bless  thee  for  the  kindly  fate, 
Which  to  thy  pilgrim  soul  hath  given 

A  fount  its  purest  thirst  to  sate, 

Which  springs  from  earth,  but  mirrors  Heaven 


TO 


I  cherish  yet  this  lifeless  flower : 

'Twas  bright  and  fresh,  with  bloom  like  thine, 
When  thy  soft  hand  in  thoughtless  hour, 

Half  flung  it,  careless,  into  mine  ! 


POEMS.  319 


There  was  no  glance  from  thee  that  threw 
A  single  beam  upon  my  way ; 

No  word  from  whose  sweet  tone  I  drew 
Just  presage  of  a  happier  day ; 

Yet  'twas  thy  gift,  and  cold  and  few 
As  were  to  me  hope's  fitful  gleams, 

At  thought  of  thee  bursts  forth  anew 
The  radiance  of  my  brightest  dreams  ! 

I  kept  the  flower,  'tis  faded  now, 
And,  fading  like  it,  droop  and  fall, 

As  blossoms  from  a  blasted  bough, 
My  future's  trust,  my  dreams,  my  all ! 

These  withered  leaves — there  is  no  spell 
Their  beauty's  blush  can  e'er  restore, — 

Sweet  lady,  pardon  !  thou  canst  tell, 
If  hope  for  me  shall  bloom  no  more  ! 


TO 


More  dark  than  winter's  darkest  cloud, 
Compared  with  purity  like  thine, 

The  sin  whose  daily  shadows  shroud 
Poor,  tempted,  toilsome  lives  like  mine! 


320  POEMS. 

Though  in  my  better  moments  rise 

Thoughts,  feelings,  hopes  of  holier  aim, 

Too  oft — like  meteors  from  the  skies — 
They  flash,  fall,  vanish  as  they  came ! 

Dear  lady,  then,  in  happy  time, 

Was  that  sweet  promise  breathed  by  thee 

That  with  thy  vows  a  prayer  should  climb 
And  ask  a  boon  from  Heav'n  for  me. 

'Tis  said  that  when  His  Angels  sue, 
The  Merciful  bends  down  His  ear : 

Sweet  lady,  if  the  tale  be  true, 

What  blessings  wait  upon  thy  prayer ! 


TO 


'Twas  ill  enough  the  pang  to  know 
Of  absence,  distance,  hope  repress'd, 

Before  a  doubt  had  come  to  throw 
New  shadows  o'er  my  clouded  breast. 

I  felt  that  Time,  too  swift  till  then, 
Must  linger  long  on  laggard  wing, 

Ere  thy  sweet  smile  could  beam  again 
Upon  me  in  the  gladsome  spring. 


POEMS.  321 

And,  knowing  that  earth's  hopes  must  wait 

Upon  a  will  they  cannot  bend, 
I  trembled  at  the  thought  that  Fate 

That  happy  hour  might  never  send. 

Yet  I  was  blest  that,  come  what  might, 

No  absence,  distance,  change,  delay, 
Could  dim  the  faith  that,  pure  and  bright, 

Lit  up  thy  heart  with  perfect  day. 

And  though  there  came  not  to  mine  ear 

The  music  of  thy  gentle  voice, 
Kind  words  might  make  the  distant  near, 

And  I  might  read  them  and  rejoice. 

It  is  not  thus — not  thus,  that  now 
I  count  bright  things  as  yet  in  store  ; 

Not  thus  recall  each  happy  vow 

Our  eager  lips  breathed  o'er  and  o'er. 

Think  not  that  I  repent  my  trust, 

As  rashly  flung  upon  thy  youth, 
For  I  will  hold  all  faith  as  dust, 

Ere  I  will  doubt  me  of  thy  truth. 

But,  pure  and  gentle  as  thou  art, 
Believing  all  things  what  they  seem, 

Wilt  thou  not  wound  thine  own  kind  heart, 
Ere  thou  wilt  break  another's  dream  ? 


322  POEMS. 

Forbid  to  know  how  fondly  dwells 
Each  heavy  thought  of  mine  on  thee ; 

To  speed  me  here  one  thought  that  swells 
Thy  soul,  or  dims  thine  eye  for  me ; 

And  taught,  perhaps,  that,  all  unkind, 
Some  word,  in  pain  or  weakness  spoken, 

Shows  feelings  harsh  and  unrefined, 
Rude  vows,  as  rudely  to  be  broken. 

Ah,  tell  me — feeling,  knowing  this — 
Can  I  forget  we  are  of  clay  ? 

Or  weakly  deem  my  promised  bliss 
Will  surely  dawn,  because  it  may  ? 

Then  blame  me  not  if  each  sad  hour 
Chase  but  a  sadder  brother  on — 

If  spirits,  joyous  once,  have  power 
To  wake  no  more  sweet  fancies  gone. 

Thou  know'st  that  thou  and  only  thou 
Canst  win  back  gladness  to  my  side ; 

Can  I  remind  thee  of  no  vow 
To  cherish  me,  whate'er  betide  ? 


POEMS.  323 


TO  

Sweet  lady  !  not  in  jest  I  said 

That,  all  too  bright  to  linger  long, 

With  youth's  swift  hours  from  me  had  fled 
My  little  gift  of  joyous  song. 

'Tis  true  'twere  folly,  yet,  for  me 

To  talk  of  weariness  and  woe, 
And  feign  to  feel  the  vanity 

And  emptiness  of  things  below. 

But  yet — look  upward  as  we  may — 
The  dust  of  toil  and  travel  flings 

A  cloud  upon  the  brightest  day 
That  ever  rose  on  purple  wings. 

And  so  the  green  earth  wears  not  now 
The  freshness  that  "  lang  syne  "  I  knew ; 

The  very  beams  that  o'er  it  glow, 
Have  robbed  it  of  its  diamond  dew. 

And  well-nigh  spent,  with  me,  the  spell 
That  wins  from  life  one-half  its  sorrow, 

The  heart  which,  if  to-day  goes  well, 
Beats  careless  of  the  dim  to-morrow  ! 

Yet,  lady  !  when  I  look  on  thee, 

A  brighter  hue  bright  mem'ries  wear — 

Thoughts,  strangers  long,  come  back  to  me, 
And  dreams,  not  baseless,  throng  the  air. 


324  POEMS. 

Ah  !  then  I  would  were  mine  the  art 

That  dwells  in  poesy  alone, 
To  echo  music  from  my  heart, 

Should  be  re-echoed  from  thine  own  ! 

'Tis  vain  !  I  kneel  not  near  the  shrine, 

A  worshipper,  as  others  are ; 
And  thou  wilt  prize  these  vows  of  mine 

The  more,  that  they  are  breathed  from  far  ! 

A  lover's  lay  be  his,  on  whom 

The  sun-beams  of  thy  smile  descend  ! 

Mine  is  the  happiness — and  doom — 
To  be,  yet  only  be,  thy  friend  ! 


ANGELS. 


I  would  not  make  thee  angel,  if  I  could, 
For  I  am  yet  content  with  earthly  things ; 

And  'twere,  to  me,  a  dubious  sort  of  good, 
Loving  thee,  as  I  do,  to  give  thee  wings ! 

I'm  far  enough,  God  knows,  below  thee,  now, 
Though  thou  art  human,  yet — to  a  degree — 

But,  were  a  glory  set  about  thy  brow, 

What  in  the  name  of  Heav'n  would  come  of  me? 


POEMS.  325 

Spirits  are  radiant  things,  no  doubt,  to  pray 

And  lift  our  hearts  to,  and  none  more  than  thine — 

But  that  is  worship  merely — it  needs  clay 
To  link  the  mortal  love  with  the  divine. 

I  love  the  clay,  I  own — perhaps  I  have 

Too  little  of  the  fire  Prometheus  stole, 
And  yet — I  can  but  bless  the  Heaven  that  gave 

The  beauteous  girdle  which  is  round  thy  soul ! 


TO 


I  smile  to  think  there  have  been  times, 
When  I  could  write  didactic  rhymes 

To  guide  thy  girlish  hours ; 
When  I  could  give  thee  counsels  wise, 
And  solemn  morals  could  devise 

From  butterflies  and  flowers. 

It  seems  but  yesterday — for  thou 
Still  wear'st,  unfaded,  on  thy  brow, 

The  first  gay  wreaths  of  youth  ; 
And  fragrant,  round  thy  spirit,  cling 
The  earliest  blossoms  of  its  spring, 

Its  purity  and  truth  ! 
42 


326  POEMS. 

Yet,  though  a  quick,  short  hour  it  seem, 
It  hath  been  long  enough  for  dream 

On  dream  to  pass  away ; 
And  best  and  brightest  hopes  of  mine — 
(Is  it  not  so,  with  some  of  thine  ?) — 

Have  come,  and  had  their  day. 

Yes — mine  have  come,  deceived,  and  gone, 
And  others,  that  I  look  upon 

As  boding  better  things, 
Will,  likely,  cheat  and  fade  as  well, 
That  other  years  a  tale  may  tell, 

Like  that  which  this  one  brings. 

But — 'mid  the  varying  shapes  of  change, 
The  one  that  seems  to  me  most  strange, 

Is  that  myself  have  known ; 
That  I,  who  set  me  to  impart 
Sage  lessons  how  to  rule  thy  heart, 

Can  scarce  keep  whole  my  own  ! 

In  time  of  eld,  when  fairies  trod, 
Beneath  the  moon,  the  dewy  sod, 

Or  thronged  the  woodland  dells, 
A  woful  plight  was  his,  I  ween, 
Who  saw  them  dancing  round  the  green, 

Or  heard  the  elfin  bells. 

No  sleep-shut  eye  there  was,  for  him, 
No  welcome  rest  for  weary  limb, 

Till  all  that  night  was  gone  j 


POEMS.  327 

Where'er  the  elfin  coursers  neighed, 
Where'er  the  bells  their  music  made, 
He  followed,  fated,  on  ! 

Less  kind,  the  fairies  of  our  days, 
Than  those,  the  tiny  greensward  fays, 

Whose  charm  with  darkness  went ; 
For,  now,  alike  'neath  moon  and  sun, 
The  witching  process  once  begun, 

Its  spells  are  never  spent ! 

It  were  not  ill,  that  thou  shouldst  hold 
Small  truce  of  mercy  with  the  bold, 

Who  onward  press  and  dare ; 
But  those  of  us  who,  from  afar, 
Gaze  on  thee,  as  men  watch  a  star, 

Deserve  that  thou  shouldst  spare. 

'Tis  not  our  fault  that  we  have  eyes, 
And,  if  thy  soft  and  low  replies 

Charm,  more  than  music  can, 
'Tis  in  our  own  despite  we  hear, 
And  wherefore  should  one  pay  so  dear 

For  being  only  man  ? 

Sometimes  the  fear  upon  me  gains, 

That,  when  fair  maidens  forge  their  chains, 

They  reck  not  whom  they  bind ; 
Like  Romans  at  the  triumph's  arch, 
They  little  care  what  captives  march 

In  pensive  ranks  behind ! 


328  POEMS. 

I've  heard  of  one  who,  hour  by  hour, 
In  twilight  grove  and  evening  bower, 

Smiled  when  a  lover  wooed, 
Although  she  knew  Endymion's  moon 
Would  wed  him,  from  the  skies,  as  soon 

As  she  to  whom  he  sued. 

She  would  not  bid  him  go  his  ways — 
She  loved  his  worship  and  his  praise, 

Although  she  loved  him  not ; 
She  listened,  while  she  liked  to  hear, 
And,  when  it  palled  upon  her  ear, 

She  doled  him  out  his  lot ! 

But,  wherefore  vex  thy  gentler  mind, 
With  tales  of  maidens  thus  unkind  ? 

Oh,  never  thine  such  sin ! 
Thou  wouldst  have  let  him  love  away, 
And  live  in  hope,  some  lucky  day 

By  patient  praise  to  win. 

And — praisi  ng — lo  vi  ng — hopi  ng — still, 
His  future  hanging  on  thy  will, 

Without  one  vow  of  thine — 
He  might  have  lived  sweet  ages  o'er, 
And,  till  he  asked  for  something  more, 

Have  felt  suspense  divine ! 

And — after  all — most  strange  it  were, 
In  him  who  could  not,  patient,  bear 
Long  years  of  doubt,  to  see — 


POEMS.  329 

Though  dim  and  far,  and  struggling  through 
A  darker  night  than  chaos  knew — 
One  hope  of  winning  thee  ! 

Such  sights  and  hopes  to  them  I  leave, 
Who  fancy's  webs  can,  willing,  weave, 

To  snare  themselves  withal ; 
'Tis  mine  to  see  with  other's  eyes, 
And,  if  'twere  mine  to  deal  the  prize, 

Thou  know'st  where  it  would  fall ! 

But  there 's  no  cause  why  thou  shouldst  chide, 
And  surely  none  why  I  should  hide, 

'Neath  cautious  words  and  cold, 
The  feelings  kind,  whose  friendly  glow 
It  would  be  strange  thou  shouldst  not  know, 

Though  it  were  left  untold  ! 

Of  all  the  charms  existence  lends — 
Youth,  beauty,  wit,  and  love,  and  friends — 

There 's  none  thou  dost  not  share ; 
Yet,  though  'tis,  thus,  an  idle  thing 
To  add  so  poor  an  offering 

As  one  sad  sinner's  prayer — 

I  pray  that,  like  the  Prophet's  palm, 
Which  vocal  made  each  breeze  of  balm 

O'er  Eden's  bow'rs  that  past, 
Thy  tree  of  life  may,  all  day  long, 
Pour  forth  from  every  leaf  a  song, 

Each  sweeter  than  the  last ! 


330  POEMS. 


TO   

I've  been  a  dreamer  all  my  days, 

Yet  ne'er  a  dream  came  true — 
And  'twould  be  strange  if  I  could  raise 

A  dreamland  sprite  for  you  ; 
You — through  whose  common,  daylight  air, 

More  gladsome  visions  sweep, 
Than  other,  luckiest  mortals,  dare 

To  hope  for — e'en  in  sleep  ! 

Dream  as  you  will  then — brighter  far 

Your  own  pure  thoughts,  than  all 
The  forms  that  round  the  midnight's  car 

A  wizard's  wand  could  call ! 
I  only  beg  that,  not  too  glad 

Nor  bright,  your  dreams  may  be ; 
For  then — the  chance  were  very  bad, 

That  you  should  dream  of  me  ! 


TO 


Along  a  lonely  walk  I  strayed — 

My  thoughts  far  off,  with  doubtful  things, 
When,  o'er  my  path,  I  saw  there  played 

"  A  gentle  bird  on  azure  wings  ! " 


POEMS.  331 

He  bent  him  from  the  heights  of  air — 
Stooped  to  the  earth,  as  if  to  light — 

Poised  him  before  me — lingered  there — 
Then  passed  away — like  all  things  bright ! 

I  watched  him,  till  I  saw  him  fold 

His  wings,  the  distant  corn  among, 
"Where,  from  a  stalk  of  bending  gold, 

I  heard  him  lift  his  happy  song. 

I  went  my  ways — I  could  but  feel, 

How  often  to  my  lot  'twas  given, 
To  see,  far  from  my  pathway,  wheel 

The  brightest  messengers  from  Heaven  ! 

And  yet — why  should  the  bird  to  me 
Bring  down  the  hues  that  clothe  the  sky, 

When  o'er  my  path  there  bent  no  tree, 
In  whose  green  bosom  he  could  lie  ? 

When  of  the  fields  whose  treasures  lay, 

Far  o'er  the  glad  and  teeming  plain, 
Not  mine  one  golden  sheaf,  to  pay 

The  music  of  his  gentle  strain  ! 

I  could  not  blame  him — yet  I  thought 
'Twere  sad  he  should  have  come,  unless 

His  beauty  and  his  song  he'd  brought, 
My  lonely  wanderings  to  bless  ! 


332  POEMS. 


TO  

I  may  not  love  thee  !  though  the  thought, 

By  honor's  ban  repressed, 
Unbreathed  to  thee,  to  man,  to  Heaven, 

Should  moulder  with  my  breast ! 
There  is  a  faith  that  I  should  break, 
If,  from  my  slumbers  I  should  wake 

To  bless  a  dream  of  thee ; 
And  though  to  thee  but  common  dust, 
As  pure  as  thou  I'll  keep  that  trust, 
Betwixt  my  soul  and  me  ! 

And  yet — 'tis  hard  thou  shouldst  not  know 

What  better  life  were  mine, 
To  worship,  if  but  in  my  heart 

The  Deity  in  thine  ! 
Ah  !  couldst  thou  feel  what  it  has  cost 
To  teach  myself  that  thou  art  lost 

Yet  bless  where  thou  art  won, 
Thou — wouldst  not  love  me — that  is  past — 
But  even  thou  wouldst  mourn  the  cast 
That  left  me  thus  undone  ! 


POEMS.  333 


FROM   CALDERON, 


Carlos.     The  morning's  golden  light  had  scarcely  flung 
A  crown  upon  the  sun's  returning  brow 
When,  unto  her,  from  whom  daylight  had  sprung, 
Mine  other  sun,  I  lifted  up  my  vow. 
Scarce  the  night-shadows,  tremulous,  had  hung 
Their  gloom  o'er  all  things  but  my  passion's  glow, 
When  all  my  love,  upon  the  garden-wold, 
To  the  fair  commonwealth  of  flowers  I  told. 

The  very  silence  of  the  evening  chill, 
The  jasmine,  in  sweet  mazes  clustering, 
The  crystal  fountain,  bubbling  at  its  will, 
The  brook,  that  to  itself  went  murmuring, 
The  air,  that  on  the  blossoms  breathed  still, 
And  o'er  the  shrinking  leaves  leapt,  wandering — 
All — all  was  love  !     What  if  at  such  an  hour, 
There  be  a  soul  in  fountain,  bird,  and  flower  ! 


Pasquin.     There  was  an  old  and  grave  philosopher 
Who  dwelt  unto  himself.     A  soldier  passed 
His  home  one  day,  and  paused  to  speak  with  him, 
And,  after  long  discourse,  the  warrior  said, — 
"  Hast  thou  not  seen  the  fall,  then,  of  our  king, 
Whose  laurels  crown  him  Lord  and  Arbiter 
Of  empires  most  unbounded?"     Quoth  the  sage, 
43 


334  POEMS. 

"  Is  not  thy  king  a  man?     What  hath  he  then 
That  I  should  gaze  on  him,  more  than  on  thee  ? 

******** 

Thou  see'st  yon  blossom — gather  it,  I  pray, 
And  bear  it  to  thy  King,  and  say,  I  bid  him 
Make  but  one  single,  simple,  flower  like  that ! 
Then  may'st  thou  learn,  that  trophies,  glories,  fame, 
Triumph  and  victory  step  not  beyond 
Our  mere  humanity ;  since  he,  thy  Lord, 
After  so  many  conquests  won,  is  still 
All  impotent  to  frame  one  little  flower, 
When  every  field  sprouts  myriads  ! " 

La  Cisma  de  Inglaterra. 


NOTES. 


[The  following  notes  are  the  author's  own,  except  where  inclosed  in 
brackets.] 

Page  255.  The  Blessed  Hand.  There  is  a  legend  of  an  English 
monk  who  died  at  the  monastery  of  Aremberg,  where 
he  had  copied  and  illuminated  many  books,  hoping 
to  be  rewarded  in  Heaven.  Long  after  his  death 
his  tomb  was  opened,  and  nothing  could  be  seen  of 
his  remains  but  the  right  hand  with  which  he  had 
done  his  pious  work,  and  which  had  been  miracu- 
lously preserved  from  decay. 

[From  a  personal  friend  of  Mr.  Wallis  we  have 
the  following  account  of  the  circumstances  under 
which  "  The  Blessed  Hand  "  was  written : 

"  After  the  war  ended,  it  was  found  that  there 
was  so  much  want  and  destitution  throughout  the 
South,  as  well  as  an  entire  lack  of  seeds  and  imple- 
ments with  which  to  start  in  life,  that  some  ladies 
in  Baltimore  conceived  the  idea  of  holding  a  Fair 
for  the  purpose  of  raising  a  sum  of  money  which 
should  be  applied  to  relieving  the  great  want  known 
to  be  widespread  throughout  the  South.  The  result 
was  the  '  Southern  Relief  Fair,'  which  proved  a 
great  success,  as  the  expenses  were  almost  nothing, 
while  all  found  something  to  give  for  the  Fair. 
The  amount  realised  was  about  $165.000. 

"  Among  those  who  entered  into  the  work  of  the 
Fair  with  great  enthusiasm,  was  Mr.  Wallis ;  and 

335 


336  NOTES. 

soon  after  the  opening,  when  he  had  seen  the  way  in 
which  the  ladies  worked,  and  how  true  and  earnest 
was  their  desire  to  help  those  who  were  suffering, 
the  legend  of '  The  Blessed  Hand  '  came  to  his  mind, 
and  he  wrote  the  poem  here  given.  He  had  it 
printed  and  sent  to  the  Fair  for  sale.  So  perfectly 
did  the  lines  agree  with  the  feeling  that  filled  every 
heart,  and  so  beautiful  were  they  in  themselves, 
that  great  numbers  of  the  printed  copies  were  sold." 

^Elfric  relates  a  similar  miracle  in  the  case  of 
King  Oswald  of  Northumbria.] 

Page  261.  The  Last  of  the  Hours.  In  the  famous  fresco,  known 
as  the  Aurora,  by  Guido  Reni,  in  the  Rospigliosi 
palace  at  Rome,  the  last  of  the  Hours — the  farthest 
from  the  chariot  of  the  Sun — wears  a  darker  robe 
than  her  companions,  and  is  the  only  one  whose  head 
is  covered.  Her  face  is  by  far  the  most  beautiful 
in  the  group,  though  its  expression  is  pensive. 

[Printed  in  the  Metropolitan  Magazine,  September,  1857.] 
"  263.  Truth  and  Reason.  Fabricius,  in  his  Bibliotheca 
Graeca,  mentions  the  theory  of  the  universe  pro- 
pounded by  Cosmas  Indicopleustes,  who,  among 
other  things,  accounted  for  the  motion  of  the 
heavenly  bodies  by  the  assertion  that  they  were 
carried  round  in  their  orbits  by  celestial  spirits. 
August  20,  1849. 

"  265.  Beauty  and  Faith.  "  Guido  was  so  distinguished  by 
his  passionate  enthusiasm  for  the  Madonna  that  he 
was  supposed  to  have  been  favored  by  a  particular 
vision  which  enabled  him  the  more  readily  to  repre- 
sent her  divine  beauty.  .  .  .  But,  though  he  painted 
lovely  Virgins,  he  went  every  Saturday  to  pray 
before  the  little  black  Madonna  della  Guardia, 
and,  as  we  are  assured,  held  this  ancient  Eastern 
relic  in  devout  veneration."  Mrs.  Jameson's 
Legends  of  the  Madonna. 

[Printed   in  the    Metropolitan    Magazine,   March,    1857.] 


NOTES.  337 

Page  267.  The  Exile's  Prayer.  In  his  work  on  the  Mind,  Dr. 
Rush  maintains  the  fact,  attested  by  clergymen  of 
his  acquaintance,  that  the  aged  foreigners  whom 
they  attended  generally  prayed  on  their  death-beds 
in  their  native  language,  though  in  many  cases 
they  had  not  spoken  it  for  fifty  or  sixty  years. 

"  268.  The  first  interment  in  Greenmouut  Cemetery  was  that 
of  an  infant.  1845. 

"  270.  [The  Spectre  of  Colalto  was  contributed  by  Mr.  Wallis 
to  The  Baltimore  Book,  a  literary  miscellany  pub- 
lished in  1838,  and  edited  by  W.  H.  Carpenter  and 
T.  S.  Arthur.  To  the  poem  was  prefixed  the  fol- 
lowing quotation : — ] 

"  The  White  Lady  of  Avenel  is  not  quite  so  good 
as  a  real  well-authenticated  White  Lady  or  spectre 
in  the  Marca  Trevigniana,  who  has  been  repeatedly 
seen.  .  .  .  She  always  appeared  upon  particular 
occasions,  before  the  deaths  of  the  family,  &c.  .  .  . 
She  was  a  girl  attendant,  who  one  day,  dressing  the 
hair  of  a  Countess  of  Colalto,  was  seen  by  her  mis- 
tress to  smile  upon  her  husband,  in  the  glass.  The 
Countess  had  her  shut  up  in  the  wall  of  the  castle, 
like  Constance  de  Beverley.  She  is  described  as 
very  beautiful  and  fair.  It  is  well  authenticated." 
BYRON,  Letter  463. 

"  277.  In  Fort  Warren.  [Lines  written  on  the  occasion  of 
the  release  of  several  Confederate  officers,  fellow- 
prisoners  of  the  author.] 

"    278.     Worship.     April  29,  1852. 

"    280.    Dreams.     1836. 

"     283.    Life.     October,  1836. 

"  289.  Christmas  Eve  at  Sea.  On  board  ship  Argo,  Decem- 
ber 24,  1846. 

"    294.    "The  Lord  Gave"     January  22,  1854. 

"  296.  "And  the  Lord  hath  taken  away."  Annapolis,  Janu- 
ary 14,  1856. 

"     298.    Memnon.     September  19,  1850. 


338  NOTES. 

Page  299.  God's  Acre.  The  Germans  call  a  grave-yard  Gottes 
Acker,  or  "  God's  Acre,"  and  Friedhof,  the  "  Peace- 
yard." 

"    299.    Starlight.     September  20,  1853. 

"     300.     Quo  Fata  Trahunt.    January  10,  1854. 

"  301.  For  an  Album.  I  was  requested  to  write  some  verses 
in  the  album  of  a  charming  little  girl.  I  wrote 
the  first  of  the  following  pieces,  and  did  not  insert 
it,  because  I  found  on  examination  that  there  was 
another,  by  another  hand,  in  the  volume,  with  pretty 
nearly  the  same  application  of  its  moral.  It  was 
suggested  by  an  engraving  of  a  landscape  in  the 
album. 

"  302.  For  an  Album.  These  lines,  suggested  by  another 
engraving,  which  represented  a  butterfly  upon  a 
bunch  of  cut  flowers,  were  returned  with  the  volume. 

"  306.  To  a  Friend.  In  answer  to  a  poem  written  by  a  friend 
on  Campbell's  lines — 

"  To  live  in  hearts  we  leave  behind, 

Is  not  to  die."  October  10,  1852. 

"  310.  To  a  Friend.  These  verses  were  inclosed  in  a  letter 
to  my  friend,  James  \V.  Miller,  of  New  Orleans, 
with  whom  I  had  spent  a  good  many  very  happy 
hours  at  Pigeon  Hills.  When  the  letter  containing 
them  reached  New  Orleans,  he  was  dead.  Sit  illi 
terra  levis!  December  23,  1838. 

"  312.  No  More.  Madame  de  Stael,  I  think  it  is,  who  says 
that  the  words  "  no  more  "  are  the  sweetest  in  the 
English  language.  1841. 

"     314.    The  Curfew.     October  1,  1845. 

"  317.  The  Fount.  An  answer  to  the  following  lines  in  a 
friend's  letter : — 

"As  the  weary  traveller  draweth  nigh 
To  a  spring  which  refresheth  his  longing  eye, 
And  joyfully  bendeth  o'er  the  brink 
Of  the  limpid  and  crystal  stream  to  drink 


NOTES.  339 

Yet  starts  to  see,  'neath  the  wave  so  clear, 
The  naked,  loathsome  clay  appear — 

Even  so  the  lake  of  Human  Love, 

While  reflecting  the  tints  from  the  sky  above, 

Will  often  seem,  to  the  distant  sight, 

Like  a  pure  and  fathomless  sea  of  light ; 

Yet  the  ripples  dance  in  fantastic  wreath 

O'er  the  shoals  of  selfishness  hid  beneath." 

August  21,  1849. 


Jlti* 


